Those Left Behind
by Where'n'why
Summary: What if Nicole was in the car with Lena, Jackson, and Aiden? What if she and Lena shared the same fate? How will Aiden and Jackson cope? How would the story be different? Will Aiden get his vengeance?
1. I-1

I changed the timeline slightly, but it'll be easy to follow. Forgive me if this first chapter is a little choppy.

* * *

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, PAWNEE MEDICAL CENTER, 9TH FLOOR, 00:41.

"There are four kinds of people. There are good people. There are bad people. There are indifferent people. And worst of all, there are confused people." It was sappy, but that's what my father always told me when he was sober. I don't know how true the words of a dead drunk can be.

"But why? I looked at that man and he looked at me. I mean he nodded like people do when they drive past each other. Then he looked at you. Why did that man shoot at us?" He asked, not sounding whiny, but sounding confused and hurt. And he was hurt.

And that is what I didn't know. I don't know why that lone gunman approached on his motorcycle and shot my front tires. Not completely. No, not at all. I knew that someone was trying to get back at me for something I did. I knew I fucked with some people, but there was an unspoken 'code' among us. Among the fixers and hackers, _"You don't fuck with the family."_ That asshole, whoever he was, saw the damn kids in the car. He knew… but I didn't and I'll find him and find out why. I tried to muster up the best answer I could.

"I think that man who did what he did was confused. I don't really think that he knows why he did it." My ribs hurt from speaking. I didn't break anything but I had bruises. I could deal with those.

"Does confusion make people do bad things?" He asked, rubbing the cast on his arm. He was worse off than I was and he shouldn't have to deal with it.

"I think that sometimes when people are… confused… they lose that thing that tells them what's right and wrong. They do bad things and they think that they're doing them for the right rea—" And then the doctor burst into the room.

"Mr. Pearce…" He gestured for me to go to him. I rose from my spot at the end of Jackson's bed and walked towards him, limping. "I think that we should go into a different room." He said.

"Alright." I agreed, there was no need to discuss this in front of the kid. It was his mother and sister we were talking about. I followed him as we walked down the corridor to an empty room three doors down and across the hall. It was a small room with about the size and feel of a living room. He opened the door and turned on the lamp and I sat on one of the ugly cloth couches and he sat across from me.

"I've been a doctor for many years and all of those years still haven't taught me how to deliver news like this. I'm sorry but," He looked down at his clipboard.

"What the fuck are you saying?" I couldn't bring myself to utter the words of the worst case scenario, not even in my head.

"Nicole and Lena Pearce both expired about fifteen minutes ago." He let out a sigh.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SAYING?" I didn't realize it then, but I'd stood up and had the doctor backed up against the window. His arms were up in defense and his white knuckles and the back of his white coat were pressed against the glass. The fear became evident in the cracking of his voice.

"We did everything we could, but the physical forces of the crash caused a lot of internal bleeding. The only positive thing I could try to say is that the crash rendered them unconscious and they did not feel any pain, sir." I backed off of him and he continued speaking. "They were both in cardiac arrest when the ambulances arrived, we got them both to get a pulse again and we did all that we could, but the trauma was just so extensive that there was nothing that could save them."

"And what am I gonna tell that kid in that bed over there?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're going to have to do better than that."

"There's nothing more I can do." He said trying to slip out of the room.

"Then, get out!" I barked at him. He left in a hurry and I heard the fast rhythmic clicking of his shoes on the shiny linoleum fade into the distance. I walked to the window and tried to focus. I saw everything as a big picture now. The little drops of drizzle on the window obscured everything, even the skyscrapers in The Loop. Those little drops didn't distract me not as much as my thoughts did.

What was I going to do? I'd grieve but I have a kid to support now. I love the kid and I'll do it, of course. But I don't know anything about raising a kid. Now I got a sister and a niece to bury. And I have to keep this quiet. And it's all… my… fault. I live a dangerous life. I know that, but they didn't. This kid down the hall just lost his closest relatives. How do you tell an eight year old that?

I couldn't formulate the words. The sounds wouldn't even come together. I wished that a hole would just open up beneath me. I'd fall in and not have to speak again. I stepped out of the room and turned off the lamp from the switch on the wall. I shut the door behind me and looked again through the glass that let anyone see in. I looked out of the window again, and it was raining, steadily now.

I limped down the hallway again. This limp would go away, I knew, but what will these images and sounds and sensations. Flipping, the lines painted on the road, the orange lights of the tunnel, asphalt, and the white tiles that made up the sides of the Pawnee tunnels, the lifeless body of a little girl and an innocent woman, my hands and clothes caked with dry coagulated blood, blood on my eyelashes. And the sounds, fiberglass crunching, glass smashing, a little girl screaming, the screeching of rubber from those cowards speeding away, Jackson groaning and then the lack of noise from my sister and niece. And I smelled rubber burning, lit gasoline, hair burning, clothes burning, the blood running from my nose and the blood from…, and strangely the perfume that Nicky bought while we were up there. I felt the something warm dripping on me, no pulse from them, pain in my ribs and spine and legs, something was pinching me.

Then I snapped out of my personal Hell… and I was in front of the room he was in.

I hesitated open the door. There was no knob; all I had to do was push. IT hurt, but I shoved the door open. His eyes were focused on me. Those blue eyes were like lasers and this time I wished that I could become small. I approached him, and with some effort he sat up even straighter.

"They're dead? Aren't they?" His voice was hollow, but his eyes weren't. The windows to his soul were trembling.

"I—" My voice was weak and then it failed. My eyes made contact with his and then they focused on the shiny sky blue tiles in that room.

"Why do people die?" I looked back at him and he wasn't crying. I kept my gaze on him.

"I don't know why people die. But I know that good people like Nicky and Lena all go to Heaven."

"And why are we left here?"

I muddled my way through the answer, "Sometimes people live through thing like this because they have to live. They have to- How can I say it? They have to help each other. We go," I started pacing in front of his bed, "We go through things like this to get stronger, to be better than we were before."

"Will we be any better?"

"I hope we will." I had the sick urge to laugh hysterically. I suppressed it.

* * *

They released us at about 2:15 that morning, in the dark and rain. It was cold and we were both shivering. I knew that it was probably more emotion than it was physiological. We looked like quite a sad duo. I had a crutch and his arm was in a sling. I held the umbrella that I had to purchase from the gift shop in my free hand. I had called a cab and it arrived quickly. I was worried; we would have to go through the same tunnel to get down to Parker Square. Why the hell did Pawnee have such a stupid layout.

There were several tunnels and the last one would be the hardest. When we got to it, the cab driver wanted to make conversation as he saw the wreck. I sat up straight, and he was leaned against me with his head pressed into my arm, careful to avoid my sore ribs. He still shed no tears. Was he being strong? Was he in shock? I didn't want to speculate. We came to the pot where we were ambushed.

"That looks pretty bad over there, but I heard that some of them mighta lived." Jackson grabbed my hand and had a strong grip for an eight year old.

"Yeah, I heard that too." My voice was restraining a lot of emotion. I would have shot him, but for the child present.

"You know that's one of the worst ones I ever saw. Praise God if anyone survived that one."

"I don't want to talk about it." I was hoping that he would change the subject.

"So, is that your son?" He got the point and found something else to yak about. Jackson got even closer to me.

"He is now." And his, Jackson's, eyes shot up to mine.

"What you kidnap him or something?" He was joking, I could tell that much. I wasn't in the mood for levity, no matter how pathetic.

"I was never in the kidnapping business," I replied testily, truthfully.

"Oh." He realized that the best course of action was to shut the fuck up.

...And I realized that there was something shady about him.

* * *

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 27, NICKY'S HOUSE, 03:03

I locked the door and didn't feel secure. I hoped that he did. But how could he? The world crumbled beneath him. There was nothing solid left, nothing my perception or I could hope to grasp. No, not even noise. The rain had stopped a while ago. It was night, so the silence was multiplied. The lights that I switched on did nothing but mask the envelope of darkness. I chuckled a cold, sardonic grunt. People talked so highly of light, but light fades. Light fades and in the void we can't see.

We were both exhausted, for the adrenaline that had opened our eyes had run out. My ears were ringing. I looked down at the boy, my boy. His hair was more disheveled than usual. There was blood on his hoodie and on his T-shirt. It matched the blood on my coat. I am going to get rid off this coat and his clothes. I'm not going to wash my sister and my niece away.

"Do you want to take a shower?" I asked him.

"No, I want to sleep." His voice was small and drained. He walked to his room.

I let him undress in private in his room. He figured out how to shimmy his way out of his clothes and get into some clean pajamas. He opened the door, "Good night." And shut it again.

The silence became more silent and the darkness grew darker. I checked on him every fifteen minutes to make me feel better. He tossed and turned all night and I kept vigil until the he woke up a few hours after the sun rose behind the clouds.

* * *

Please Review!


	2. I-2

WKZ RADIO REPORT

Good evening and Happy Halloween, I'm Harris Haggerty with the news bulletin for today, Wednesday, October 31st. A TRAGEDY IN PAWNEE. As you know by now, mother and child were killed in a terrible accident in the Margate Tunnel in Pawnee on October 26th. Nicole Pearce, 36, and her six year old daughter, Lena, were both severely injured. They were pronounced dead at the hospital less than an hour later. Two other victims were pulled from the wreckage and suffered minor injuries. One doctor at Pawnee Medical Center, said quote, "In twenty-five years of emergency room medicine, I have never, ever seen such horrific injuries," unquote. At the entrance to the tube closest to the scene of the accident, has already been covered by stuffed animals, candles and flowers. The city council of Pawnee has erected to wooden crosses by the large heaps of now damp plush toys. The funeral arrangements have been published. A public viewing is now scheduled for Monday from noon until seven at Christ the Redeemer Church and the funeral on Tuesday morning at ten AM also at Christ the Redeemer.

In other sad news, residents of New York City, New Jersey, and Long Island are still in the dark after Superstorm Sandy made landfall on Monday. Both Con-Edison and PSE&G, the major electricity providers, are still working to restore the lights. Several electricians have even travelled from Chicago to the areas most severely impacted. And now more on the storm… It was a depression when it made landfall near Atlantic City. At her height, she sustained wind of eighty miles per hour and had gusts of over one-hundred. The governors of New York and New Jersey are both getting help from the President. The monetary damage is thought to be in the tens of billions. The complete number of fatalities in the United States is still unknown at this juncture, but it is thought to be in the dozens.

* * *

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 5th, CHURCH OF CHRIST THE REDEEMER, 13:00

I had a strange joy about this, sitting in the front pew of this church. I looked at the two boxes up there and grinned. The caskets were shut and two easels with good pictures of them were displayed. They didn't have to worry about anything anymore. And I was happy that the caskets were closed too. As asleep as they may have looked, I knew that they were dead. They were at peace.

There had been no peace for the living over the last week. The media was having a fucking field day with this. It was plastered all over the newspapers. "TRAGEDY IN PAWNEE" "MOM AND TOT DIE IN CRASH" "A PEARCE TO OUR HEARTS: A FAMILY FRACTURED" All the papers wanted to make puns and witticisms and still I was in no mood for levity. They published all sorts of editorials, but I didn't car about what they had to say. Even in the last hour, I watched all of those eyes look at the caskets and then at Jackson, and then at me, in that order always. I didn't want fifteen minutes of fame. I knew that Jacks didn't want it either. He wanted to go to school.

I wanted to send him to school, and I was going to send him the next day when I got a call from his teacher, on Sunday the 28th. Mrs. Burnett was a nice lady, stern. When I picked up the receiver, I could hear the emotion in her voice. She was sniffling as she spoke. "Mr. Pearce, I know I'm breaking protocol by calling, but I had to call you in person to give you my condolences."

"Thank you, hearing an actual human being say it is nice."

"Well, I called to say that—. It's my professional opinion that he needs a little time away from school. He's in the fourth grade, and fourth graders don't quite understand how to express—"

"I don't understand," I started, "He wants to go to school. I want him to go to school. I want him to be with his friends and I don't want him to fall behind." I even thought that I sounded demanding.

"Please," she stretched the word trying to calm me, not that I was truly upset with her. "You see, Jackson isn't the problem. He wouldn't be the problem. He's the smartest young man I have ever come across in all the years, I've been teaching. I mean that. He grasps all of the concepts so quickly. He's sensitive to how others feel. I'm afraid that the rest of the students would be the problem, because they're nowhere near as thoughtful. Most kids his age still have two or three of their grandparents, but he's lost his m—. I requested counselors to come in and train the whole student body on sensitivity."

"So what does that mean for him in the meantime?"

"It means that you I'm going to email all of the work. It takes the counselors about a week to acclimate the students."

That was bad fucking news. We had nothing to do all week, or at least he didn't. I had to find the insurance policies, and make all of the arrangements while he usually sat outside in the hallways of the institutions I had to visit.

And now, here we were, sitting in the front pews of this church watching the dozens and dozens of people who came out to show support, or grieve or gawk or balk. Their faces all started to look the same for me. They looked stiff and cold, unlike my memories of Nicky and Lena.

There was something in the back of my head, a voice, telling me to siphon money from these people. And I didn't, though it would have been easy.

The ctOS made it easy. Anywhere there was a surveillance camera, there was a ctOS connection. Somehow, Blume had wormed its way into every aspect of the lives of every citizen in this town. Bank accounts, medical records, everything on everybody was in that system.

I wasn't going to do anything like that today. That's what got me into trouble in the first place. And I wondered about Damien. He had gone quiet. They probably got him.

At least that criminal bullshit was over.

* * *

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6th, CHURCH OF CHRIST THE REDEEMER, 09:46

"… and when I saw this tragedy on the news, I not only asked myself why this happened, but what causes these things to happen. Why do such terrible things happen to good people" the priest was well into his eulogy when my attention came back to the church, the funeral.

"People ask, 'why would God permit this? Does He really care as much as we think He should?' Well, to that I say, I don't know. But I think of God in a different way. I think of Him as a vigilant sort of God. He watches us and knows us. His end goal for all of us is justice and truth and right and good. That is why He sent His Son, Jesus, to save us from ourselves. The only problem that we all will have to grapple with is that He does it in ways that we are simply unable to understand all of the time. He works in mysterious ways. He's God and we cannot comprehend His goodness.

"The Lord giveth and He taketh away. And maybe, just maybe, it was just to remove our dear departed from this world of sin and sorrow, this world of polluted and degrades morality. They have been removed from this culture of death to eternal life. Let us remember what Paul tells in his second epistle to the Corinthians, 'To be absent from the body, is to be present with the Lord.' Let us take comfort in the fact that these two beautiful human beings are definitely at home with their God, a loving, vigilant God who will never leave or abandon them or us, the bereft. Let us remember in this seemingly unending night of weeping and sorrow that 'joy will come in the morning.'

The priest continued, "And I believe that the dawn will be bright and warm. I believe that you who are left behind will make this a wonderful dawn. You will make it warm with the people you meet, with the relationships you form, and the way you carry yourselves in the future. The daybreak will be great and God will bring warmth and love to you now and forever."

He stepped down and I felt empty. They all kept saying that the pain would fade, but it kept intensifying. I looked down at Jacks and he wasn't crying. I don't think he was going to. I read someplace that not crying was a sign of resilience. If that was the case, he was stronger than I was. My vision was blurred tears and my palms were soaked from the ones that had already fallen.

Someone would tell me later that all of the people in that church behind us were sobbing. Someone else said that the church was also filled with the cacophony of cameramen doing their job. I had blocked out all of that noise and only heard the clergyman's soft voice.

* * *

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 6th, ST. JOSEPH CEMETERY, 11:18

I didn't feel light at all. They were in the ground and I was above it, and it felt wrong. Culture of death, huh? Why couldn't I have been the one to die? I deserved it for my deeds and thoughts. I hurt people, killed people, stole, intimidated. They didn't. And my words about peace before were wrong. There would be no peace for anyone now. Now would be a very busy time for my sister and my niece.

As I think, the scavengers are trying their hardest to subsist for a bit longer, before the frost solidified the soil. They were inching their way closer to the bodies in those boxes. And they would have a feast to rival Thanksgiving in a few weeks. The worms and mites would eat into their ears and eyes and mouths. And all the time they would putrefy on their own and deteriorate with the heat and wet and freezing and thawing. And in the end they would be skeletons like any other bones in the ground, nameless, faceless, forgotten and rotten. Unremembered and uncared for. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. All of these bright flowers would die and, in the spring grass would grow over the fresh earth here leaching the nutrients they need from those beneath. Chicago would move on. The lights would stay on and burn bright. And we would be stuck trying to find a new normal. Whatever the fuck normal was.

Jackson snapped me out of my numbness, or rather, my nihilism, "What did Father Peter mean when he said 'culture of death'? I mean I don't want to die.

Where the fuck did he grasp those questions from. "I think that he meant that people are—. We're forgetting about each other as people. We're becoming more divided and relationships are dying between people. You'll see as you grow. You'll see that sometimes people forget themselves. They let their personalities die trying to—" I tried to find words.

"Trying to what?"

"Trying to do things that mean nothing to God. People try to get better things in life or get revenge, or just plain hurt other people. They stop living the way God would want them to live and only focus on the ends. The ends don't always justify the means." I didn't know how much I believed what I was saying.

"What?"

I pivoted, "Wanna play chess? I saw a table over there and I feel like beating you today."

"You wish." And I did wish. He won about three-fourths of the time. Every time I won, I felt like he was allowing me to, and he was.

We set the board up, and within ten moves I was about to lose. Something broke his concentration. "Are you getting the feeling like someone is watching us?

I looked around and saw no one. I thought someone was watching, but people had been staring at us for the past few days. I knew that the attention would move away from us. It had to.


	3. I-3

WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 21st, ST JOSEPH CEMETERY, 17:42

It was his birthday, and this is what he wanted. He wanted to visit his sister and his mother. He didn't want toys, games, or clothes. He just wanted to visit. He didn't say anything. I watched from everything he did. I gave him privacy and watched from a distance. He walked over by himself, while I looked on from one of the benches. He sat on dirt with his legs crossed, facing the headstone I ordered. It only had their names engraved. I didn't know what I could say in so few words about the both of them. He moved what looked like the only flowers that remained. With his right index finger, he traced out the lines and the curves of all of the letters on the headstones. He took up the bouquet he'd just lifted. He examined it. They were strange roses. The stems were long and had no thorns. The petals were somewhere between crimson, burgundy and maroon with the outer edges brightening gradually to appear the shade of rubies.

The supervisor of the groundskeepers tapped me on the shoulder. "I don't know who's leaving the flowers. I keep checking the cameras, but we never catch who it is."

"Lena loved flowers."

He walked away. It didn't concern me that people left flowers and animals. I was concerned with the kid who was sitting above ground, the kid whose closest relatives were beneath him in boxes.

* * *

THANKSGIVING, NOVEMBER 22nd, NICKY'S HOUSE, 16:33

We both knew that it would be foolish to make a huge meal for Thanksgiving this year. It was only the two of us and it wasn't like I could prepare a turkey anyway. We both decided that it would be easiest to buy a roast chicken and reheat it. So, that's what we did, we went to the supermarket after his half day at school and picked one out. We got soft drinks and cups and everything else I needed to buy was in a can.

This morning we woke up. I wished that I hadn't. We were both depressed. The sounds of the holidays were gone. The shriek that Lena used to make for the parade every year was another delight that had been stolen.

What was I supposed to be thankful for? Most people were thankful for their family, health, wealth. My sister and my niece were in the ground. Two out of the three people I lived for were snuffed out and for what? Who's secret was so important? What was so valuable? We were there to steal money, that's it. The wages of sin is death, I guess. And then there was health. Health meant nothing, now. I'm not sane enough, right now to care. My body might be fine, but my mind was reeling. I was ready for vengeance, but not at all costs. There was only one more thing I had in my life, and that was the kid who survived that assassination attempt with me. Wealth, that wasn't even a consideration. Money was too easy to make. It was too easy to lose. The insurance came back and I got money, but that didn't do anything, but want to find out who did this even more. Why? It was money that motivated this person to do whatever they did.

And I wondered what Jackson was thinking this whole time. He'd gone back to school after the Thursday after the funeral, and was still making the same great grades. Nothing slipped, it was all too perfect. Mrs. Burnett, his teacher, hugged me at the parent-teacher conference last Friday. He said that all was well with his grades and that he was talking to his friends as usual. He wasn't acting out. He was calm, and fucking scared me. He'd been to the school counselor, Yolanda. She said that it was too soon to tell of he was bottling anything up or if his mind is just strong. She said that she would get him to let it all out somehow. There was nothing out of place about his room either.

The hours passed slowly on this cloudless day. The sun seemed to be in the same place every time I would go and look at it. It gave an impression of the weather being much warmer than it was, because it was only about thirty-five degrees out. Time seemed to hesitate and emotions seemed to remain stagnant. At least, that was the case with me. It was half past four and the sun was below the horizon, but the sky was still fighting darkness. The doorbell rang and then there was a knock. I answered it.

Standing at the door was a woman. Her face was the color and perfection of porcelain. She had piercing in her dimples and right below her bottom lip and the collar of her coat was partly obscuring what looked like a tattoo on her neck. Her ears were pierced too. Her eyes were the color that the sky was at noon. Her jet black hair was contemporary. At the sides it was short and at the top in the middle above her forehead, it was a much longer and coiffed back. She had a white highlight at the side of the longer hair. The streak of artificial white ran to the end of her hair which came together as a braid intertwined with the other color. Her fingers were thin and looked like they were tattooed probably as a continuation of a sleeve. Her fingernails were painted the color of charcoal. She wore these matching graphite bracelets on each wrist and silver bangles in the right. Her belt was worn brown leather and the buckle had the design of a spider web etched in taupe on a black surface. Her pants were faded black denim and her black boots came up to the bottoms of her knees. And she was holding one of those aluminum pans that people used for baking.

"How can I help you?" I asked.

"Je m'appelle— My name is Clara Lille," a thick accent was coming through, "I moved in next door to you about three weeks ago." Now, I remembered seeing a moving van a few weeks ago. I was usually more vigilant. I would have known all, except we were grieving hard.

"Oh, so…" I wasn't immune from awkward silences.

"Well, I made way too much food. I'm all by myself in that big house and I made enough to feed about…" That's when my smoke detector went off. I forgot the damn chicken in the oven, damn it. What I did next was probably the rudest thing I've done to a woman in my life. I shut the door, leaving her outside. I ran to the oven and took the burnt bird out. I put it on the stovetop and examined it. It was now like a piece of rubber. Fuck.

Oh shit, I left her out there. Fuck.

I ran back to the door and looked out of the peephole. She was still there. I opened the door again and she had a smirk on her face.

"I'm sorry for slamming the door in your face." I think that I shrunk a little.

"So does that mean that I can come in?"

"Yes." I opened the door and she came in. She put the pan on the table.

Jackson emerged from his room. "I smell smoke," he said. Thank God we weren't on fire.

"Yeah," I started, "That chicken, it's not going to happen."

"Fine." His attention turned to Clara, "Quebecois." One word. That's all he said. It was one word and it scared the hell out of the two adults in the room. She took a step back in awe or fright or both.

"Anyway," I started again, "Clara this is Jackson. Jackson this is Clara." They both waved at each other.

"What is your name?"

"My name is Aiden and I can't cook."

"I see zat and zat is why I'm here. I have some smoked meat and some potatoes."

"You had me at smoked," I said, my stomach growling loudly immediately.

* * *

22:08

Jackson had gone to bed an hour earlier. We stayed up and had wine. She hadn't known about what happened and I told her.

" _Marde!_ I'm so sorry, I zidn't know zat you two were…" She trailed off

"I know." I knew that people couldn't put that into words. I hadn't met one who had. Pauses seemed more palpable when there was something more to be said. I did not know what it was, so I changed the subject to something that was of little import.

* * *

23:17

And my bed was empty. I'd made the guest room my room. Their beds remained made as they were. Their doors remained shut. Those rooms remained pristine in the true definition of the word, untouched. The silence that descended every evening made my ears ring. And the ringing grew louder and became deafening. It was driving me crazy to sit around.

Here I was on Thanksgiving, left with very little to be thankful for. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. That asshole probably had all of his family. I figured it this way, if this season was all about giving, I would give him something. I would give him the same agony that he gave me. It wasn't fair that I endured these emotions and left him out.

Vengeance would be mine. They all say that vengeance is a dish best served cold, but not this time. I would let him wait until it was unexpected, because that would mean that he could get comfortable.


	4. I-4

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 12th, 10:34

I'm officially back on the grid, and I must admit that I missed it. It is said that we, those who were on the other side of the internet, were the underbelly, the scum, the saviors, the watchdogs, or the balancers of cyberspace. The title depended on who you asked or what the participants did. Some of us 'helped' society by trying to find weaknesses in our infrastructure of the government or corporations. Some of the people down here were scum who committed crimes for the sheer hell of it. There were some people down here, like me, who had mixed goals. We did what we thought was right, but we would use any means at our disposal. There were relatively few of us down here like me. We were driven by an urge to make something wrong, right.

I, however, am at a disadvantage. I still have a kid to support, and with the kind of hacker I am now, I am not in front of a computer. I will be out investigating, getting to the bottom of my mystery. WHO DID THIS AND WHY? Who paid him?

I wanted the answers to these questions, but I had to be careful in my pursuit. I dropped him off at school and picked him up every day and that was not going to change. In a crooked line of work like mine, most of us had to operate in the night, no shadows. I had to work in the sunshine in front of the world, or, at least the prying eyes and inquiring minds of Chicago.

Chicago had done something to lighten my load, though. The Central Operating System, or ctOS, made getting to people through a computer screen that much easier. A couple of lines of code and I was in. Traffic lights, bank accounts, names, social security numbers, school records, marriage licenses, birth and death certificates, surveillance cameras, were all a few clicks away at my desktop screen or on my smartphone. Blume had created a monster that crept into every aspect of life.

The first thing I did was shore ourselves up financially. That was easy enough' ctOS invited me into every little detail about every person. I made sure to do it in a way that nobody really got hurt. I would find the 'victim', and look at the money in their checking account. I would create an error in the bank system that doubled the money in the account. So if the 'victim' had $20,000 in his account, I would make it $40,000. I would take half of the new amount and put it into my 'account' and give the other half back to the 'victim'. The bank couldn't see the trail and the person who was used lost nothing. Even if the bank found out about the error, the money was insured.

But with the money transfers came everyone's dirty little secrets. I became privy to everyone's lifestyles. Anyone who led a secret life was known. All the bytes were at my fingertips. Why was Blume collecting all of this information? I don't know.

My phone was and is the key to everything, not just the mint. It is my only ally for now.

* * *

17:59

The 12/12/12 concert is tonight. The whole thing was happening in Brooklyn, at that new stadium. I don't give a fuck about it, but Jackson was excited. All of those pop stars were going to be singing, trying to raise money for the relief efforts after that hurricane. I, as I promised to myself, had kept life as normal for him as possible. I picked him up and now he was doing his homework.

Since it was a special evening, I decided to order pizza. It's not like my cooking was spectacular, but it was coming along. I wasn't setting off the smoke detectors anymore.

* * *

20:41

The concert was under way.

Then, the screen went black. Jackson, who was sitting on the rug, looked back at me. All I did was shrug. I didn't turn of the TV, though the music was so godawful that I wish I could. I wouldn't because all the kids love this noise.

Then the picture started to look grainy, and a face appeared. Now, when I say face I mean that it was a semi-transparent and ghostly visage. And whoever it was, was wearing a mask. His voice was altered and made to sound lower. It was only a semitone away from being a murmur.

"The man on the twenty dollar bill said, 'eternal vigilance by the people is the price of liberty,'. It seems that you have forgotten it. We are DEDSEC," and the letters that spelt it appeared on the screen, "… and we have not. The people were supposed to be the guardians. They were supposed to be the ones to watch and protect and now you have handed that power over. We will show you the proof. This is not the last time you'll see us."

The television went back to the concert, and before he could gaze back at me I told I said that I didn't know what just happened.

* * *

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 13th, 09:19

He was at school and I was at home, making the transactions that kept us afloat. The mortgage was paid off, due to a computer 'error' that said that the house was nonexistent.

I jumped a little when the television turned on without my intervention.

The screen stayed black and then some lettering just the same as the DEDSEC announcement.

DEDSEC IS AFTER YOU.

I didn't know what to make of the message.

OPEN YOUR EYES. OPEN YOUR WORLD.

THEY KNOW MORE THAN YOU THINK.

I AM BADBOY17.

And then my phone started ringing in my pocket. I reached for it grabbed it and it said that I was receiving a call from BADBOY17. I got the sudden urge to press ignore, but I suppressed it.

"Hello?"

"I see you got my message." The voice of the mysterious caller was altered with some sort of software to make it sound much deeper. That was bad fucking news because, let's face it, I couldn't even determine the gender of the caller.

"Look, I didn't answer this phone call to waste my time on bullshit. Who are you and what do you want?" I was blunt.

"Someone's impatient. Patience is a virtue." The voice was toying with me and it was fucking pissing me off.

"What do you want?"

"Okay, okay, look at you television." And with that it came on, and the voice started speaking again. "You see nothing right now. Yes?"

"No there's nothing on the screen." That changed in an instant. It went to what looked like surveillance video from inside of the tunnel where the accident happened. The camera faced north, that is to say that it looked into the cars from that were heading southbound from the front and only saw the red taillights of those going north, deeper into Pawnee. It, the video, was sped up judging by the time stamp at the bottom left. The cars all passed by quickly, but it stopped at 23:34:03.

"This is what I want to show you, watch the time stamp at the bottom." The voice must have pressed play.

The video resumed and you can see my black SUV enter from the top left of the screen and then suddenly disappear. The owner of the voice looped the video back and I looked down at the time stamp. Lo and fucking behold it skipped abruptly from 23:34:03 to 02:00:00. My car was seen entering and then the skid marks of the crash appear out of nowhere. I almost dropped my phone.

"What happened to those two and a half hours of video?" The voice asked into my ear. "Time doesn't just vanish into nothing."

"No, it doesn't." Whoever this was had my interest now. "But how do I know that you didn't just edit this?"

"You don't but you know this, something was fishy about that whole thing. For some reason Blume got rid of that video."

"Or shut that camera off in the first place." I thought out loud.

"Exactly." The voice hung up.

I was going to save the contact into my phone and it was already stored.

* * *

15:32

It was awkward but I had to do it. Did this kid believe in Santa or not? I knew that I got him presents every year and said that they were from me, but were the presents that were under the tree (damn I need to put one up) from Nick of from Saint Nick? When he got into the car after school, I tried my best to figure out what he thought.

"So, Jacks…" I trailed off, and looked at the road even harder.

"Yeah."

"How do you feel about Santa?"

"What do you mean?"

Dammit, he was making this hard. "I mean…uh…do you like the presents he brings every year?"

"I already know that no one comes down the chimney and that there's no old man living at the North Pole with a bunch of elves" He sighed as if every kid knew about Santa.

"Thank you." He didn't know how much easier he made my life, "So what do you want for Christmas?"

"I can't think of anything that you can get."

"Nothing?" I asked again

"No, nothing." He reiterated.


	5. I-5

HOME (IT'S NOT NICKY'S ANYMORE), DECEMBER 25th, 08:18

I suppose that I understand why he didn't wake up at some crazy hour. You see, I always used to come over on Christmas Eve and spend the night always to be woken up at 6 AM by the sounds of little feet hitting the floors and running for the Christmas tree. This year there was only one thing under the tree. I made a book coupon with some construction paper that told him that he would be granted any three wishes that he could think of. And I knew that it wouldn't be that much. Most uncles got bonds for their nephews.

He emerged from his room gave a tentative wave and a grunt that sounded like the words 'Merry Christmas' being put through a blender. I tried my best to sound cheerful, but I couldn't even convince myself.

Christmas isn't supposed to be silent.

I didn't know what to do with myself. We used to have an itinerary. They'd play with their presents while we made breakfast and had eggnog (I always put a little Southern Comfort in mine). After breakfast we'd all watch _Miracle on 34_ _th_ _Street_ and then _It's a Wonderful Life_.

It's not a wonderful life anymore. Not here. Right now it is somewhere between shitty and abysmal, and that's saying something considering the life I used to live. I have no appetite for criminality anymore. It got me into this mess and now only a life on the straight and narrow is worthwhile. I'll do it for Lena and Nicky. And more importantly I'll do it for the kid that pulled through.

I don't even know why I got back on the grid a couple of weeks ago, but—

"Uncle Aiden."

"Yeah, kiddo." I had only realized that he'd gotten dressed.

"Nothing." He said.

"It's not nothing. What is it?"

"I just don't know how people can do such evil things."

"Trust me, I don't either." Depravity wasn't new to me, but the depths of it always surprised me though I would never say so or even let it show. His next statement seemed to materialize out of the nothingness that was this house.

"Please don't kill the man who did this to us." His gaze was serious and his youth was lost on me. I felt the strong urge to obey. That urge, no matter how much I tried to suppress it bubble up in me and I spoke before I could control it.

"I won't. I promise I won't."

Shit. Why the fuck did I say that. I wanted this guy dead. You know, that would have been a damn good Christmas present for me, that man's body stiff with the stillness of death. And now I just promised the kid that I wouldn't. I already broke too many promises.

"Are we safe now?" His gaze still was staring, _still_ was staring through me.

"We are safe. I assure you that we are safer than we have ever been before. I will never ever, ever put you in danger and I will protect you in everyway I can."

The doorbell rang. I rose from my seat and broke the gaze of my interrogator. It was, of course, Clara, and I opened it without hesitation.

"Joyeux Noël!" She said with glee.

"Merry Christmas to you, too." I faked enthusiasm.

I shut the door behind her. She removed her coat and walked deeper into the room.

"I—" she started, before she was interrupted, by a brick that came through my front window.

"What the f—" Now I was interrupted by a swift kick to the door and the entrance of a masked man. My hand was on my holster. Jackson got behind me, and Clara got beside me to make sure my nephew was completely covered.

The man was shorter than me. His mask covered his face completely, and he wore a hooded cape which went down all the way to his knees. All of the clothes underneath were black and he had black studs in his ears. He had prison pallor, and had almost a sickly gray complexion. That being said he couldn't have been scrawny because he just took down a fucking door with a single kick. Clara looked as if she had her hand on her phone in her pocket. She was probably calling 911 or something.

"Where is he, motherfucker?" The masked man asked.

"You don't barge into my house and demand anything." I never yelled when Jackson was in the room, even if a man just broke into our house. "And there's no need for that kind of language."

"I don't give a shit." He snapped at me.

"Clearly." I said.

"Where the fuck is BADBOY17?" The masked figure asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about." That wasn't a complete lie.

"BADBOY17 is nearby and I think you're hiding him."

"There is no one of that name or alias here." That was true. I didn't know who BADBOY17 was.

"Well, I'm not leaving until—"

And what happened next scared me more than a brick flying through my window or my door being kicked in. I felt something stir behind me.

"Did you come here alone?" Jackson said with a small, but even voice. He got from behind me in the blink of an eye. I was stupefied for a second. He was pacing in front of me like a lawyer, a prosecutor, giving an opening statement.

"Get behind me Jackson." I pleaded with him.

He ignored me, and my desperate tone and continued, "If you really wanted to find this person, you would have brought somebody with you."

"What the— What is this kid talkin—"

"And if that person was really here, they would have escaped through the back door or from any of the dozen or so windows by now, or confronted you by now."

"Fuc—"

"You were already asked not to be vulgar, there is a lady present."He declared. I was still dumbfounded.

"What makes you think that I won't kill you right now?"

"Because I know it. You have a little brother who's my age." The intruder cringed. How did Jackson know all of this?

"How do you know—"

"His name's Mark and he attends a private school with a lot of strict teachers, and so did you. I can tell by the way the curses are coming out of your mouth. You lower your voice ever so slightly as if you're still afraid of being caught by the teacher. Oh another thought just hit me about the BADBOY situation. If you think even harder about all of the things I said, do you really think that throwing a brick through the window was the best course of action. If 'BADBOY17' was really here he would have disappeared the second that glass broke." Jackson made his way all the way to the couch when he had finished his observations. He sat on the couch with a very smug and accomplished look adorning his features, our features.

Clara took her phone out of her pocket. I nodded and she called and started speaking with a dispatcher.

The man threw his hands up in exasperation and surrender I used that to pounce on him. I put him in a headlock. He was gasping for air and I find that when people can't breathe they become very honest.

"Who do you work for?" I asked ever so gently as I applied some pressure to his windpipe.

"DEDSEC," he managed to gasp.

"Who sent you?"

"I'm just a fixer I take jobs."

"Oh, I see," I started sardonically, "So that makes it okay to break windows and kick down doors."

"No, sir." His voice diminished even further.

"Sir?" I get snarky when I'm pissed I guess, "I go from 'motherfucker' to 'sir'?"

I started to hear sirens in the distance.

"It sounds like your ride is coming." Clara seemed relieved to hear the sirens.

After a few moments the cops walked in through where my door used to be. They arrested him and I stood in the living room, growing acutely aware of how quickly the cold of outside could suck all of the heat out of the room.

"Kid," I started, calmly, "You are so grounded. He could have killed you."

"He wasn't going to. I saw just as well as you did that he wouldn't harm a fly."

"How old is he, again?" Clara asked.

I turned to answer her. "Too young for that little stunt he just pulled."

I turned again to find him under the Christmas tree.

He looked quite smug as he read the 'coupons'. "Any three wishes, huh?"

"Yes," I saw the gears turning.

"I was that I was ungrounded."

I had to oblige.

"I wish you would tell me what that whole thing was about."

"I don't know." That was the best I could do to fulfill that wish.

"I wish you would tell me who BADBOY17 is.

"I don—" I was cut off.

"IT'S ME." Clara near shouted, before putting her hands over her mouth.

"Aiden, I—"

Now I cut her off. "Jackson could you leave the room, please?"

He left and went to some indistinct corner of the house.

"What the fuck do you mean you're BADBOY17? Who are you" I took a step towards her.

"Look," she started, and I was eager to hear the rest, "I know that you are the Fox and I know that you did the Merlaut job and I don't care about that. But you pissed _zome_ serious people off when you did it."

"I asked you who you are." I could feel my teeth grinding against each other.

"You don't know it, but I think you exposed some shit that no one could have anticipated. They need you dead or at least silent. So they targeted you and your family. There's something in the shadows. Something I just can't put together yet. I need you're help. I went around the grid and he, the man who just broke in, must have followed me. He said he worked for DEDSEC which makes me even more suspicious."

"I don't often take leaps of faith," I started, "Faith is bullshit. Faith is following without anything tangible. But trust is different, but no better. It's belief in people. I'm going to have to trust you. We're going to have to trust each other. I know it's a very existentialist way to think, but that's how it is."

"Existentialism is the most French way to think." She took a closer step to me.

"Oh, is it—"

I was interrupted for about the millionth time today. This time is was a loud, resounding boom that rattled the panes of the windows that weren't shattered. The floor shook. There was also a brilliant flash of white light that filled the room and dissipated to a soft red-orange light like that of a sunset. Jackson came running from the kitchen, "It came from next door!"

Clara and I backed up from each other, we just realizing that our faces were only about six inches apart. Jackson ran out first and I followed him out of the hole where the door once was. When we ran out we saw how the Clara's house was on fire. The flames were rising out of the windows on both stories. A crackling noise was coming from the house followed by a large thud. The windows shattered out and shards of glass and embers came flying out. Small tongues of flame were making their way up the siding of the house. Clara's face would accompanied the entry to the word 'rage' in the dictionary.

I suppose that I didn't know that a crowd of our neighbors had gathered until I realized that someone had wrapped a blanket around Jacks.

And then my house fucking exploded too…

Someone was after us, and it was proven now. Jacks had that same look he had that night in October.

"I can't go to school anymore, can I?" He asked.

"No, there are people after us." I answered.

"Even me?" He asked.

I had to be blunt. "Especially you."

"There's no reason for us to stay here. We have to leave." There were sirens off in the distance. We walked around the corner and we picked a random car. My car wasn't safe anymore. So, I used my phone to unlock and start a car. We got in.

"Now what?" I asked, looking at the time on the car's radio, 11:18 AM. Three hours.

"I think I know of a good place," Clara said.

CONCLUDE PART ONE

* * *

Please review.


	6. II-1

STOLEN CAR, CHRISTMAS DAY, 11:44

The smoke from the twin fires was fading from the rear-view mirror of the car I had to steal. There was nothing I could do, and I never, ever like to feel helpless. Two explosions in the span of five minutes with all of the other houses untouched seemed fishy. I didn't have time to contemplate it now.

I readjusted my focus to the kid in the back seat. He was looking out of the window completely horrified.

"The truth is, Jackson," I mustered up the courage to speak and started, though I didn't know where or how I would finish, "Life gets in the way of living. I mean, how can I—Things happen that we can't foresee. Things sometimes get in the way of what we plan. Right now the plan is to make sure that we," I glanced over to the passenger seat at Clara, "All three of us are safe. And we have to stick together, or we'll be compromised."

"Where are you driving us?" He asked.

"He's driving us to a place we can hide," Clara interjected, "Take the next right."

"Where am I driving us?" I asked curiously, the words of the question making me chuckle inside.

She didn't answer. In fact all she did was give directions for the next hour. There was something interesting about the whole thing. She wasn't using a GPS, and she knew where to turn, where to merge, where to exit. It seemed rehearsed, and what's worse, is that for some reason, I knew vaguely where we were headed.

We came to a place down under an overpass. It was shady and shitty. There were old, dim factories whose windows were either shattered or boarded up with tattered wood on one side. In front of those old buildings there were dozens of pieces of sheet metal, some rusted and others painted over.

Across the dilapidated road was a overgrown field. It surpassed my understanding how in this bleak December the brown, withered grasses could remain so tall. I looked over and Clara and she nodded in full knowledge of what I was going to say. I put the car in park and turned it off.

"We have to walk through that," I said, even though it sounded to me like a question.

We all got out of the car and closed the doors. I took the keys with me, knowing that it was futile. That car was going to be stripped in a matter of hours. I looked again to make sure that the other two were with me.

"Single file," I said.

Jackson's face was frozen and he walked as if someone was

I walked into the grass and it made a loud crunching sound. There were fallen leaves in the grass, though I saw no trees or evidence that trees ever existed here. I was right to insist on single file, for on both sides of the path I had started to make there were dozens upon dozens of hypodermic needles, some with some of the blood still in them, all used for heroin. There was shit, actual human shit in the grass as well. Most of it had frozen over in the cold of the last few months. We came across a wet, stinking mattress that had been exposed to the elements, with rancid blankets bunched a few feet away.

The grass started to thin and shorten as we walked, treading over junk and junk food wrappers. It thinned further and without my think about it I realized we had reached the side of a small creek. In front of us was a small, steel bridge that was built upon a turntable. Presently the bridge was not connected to the land at either end and was turned parallel to the shore. Across the creek seemed to be an island of considerable size. The island which may have been a mile in circumference, housed what seemed to be many shipping containers and some warehouses. There were no cars, or indeed, any ways of proving that there was any human contact with the land after those buildings were constructed.

"This is the place where the bunker is rumored to be." Clara said wistfully. "I've regretted not investigating this place for myself.

"So this place might not be real?" I asked a little bothered.

"It's real." Jackson said, the horror that was on his face subsided.

"I can't be so certain." I said.

"I am sure it's real." Clara added.

She reached for her phone and I reached for mine to see if this bridge was connected to the ctOS.

"Câlisse, my phone's dead," she muttered, swearing, or at least I think she did. She didn't say it in English so I didn't care.

"Mine isn't," I said, seeing that the bridge was, indeed, run by one of the easily hacked servers of the ctOS. I pushed pound sign on my keypad and the bridge started to turn, with a grunt and a moderate screech that could not have been heard by the transients in the other side of the grass. It took about half a minute to turn so that it was crossable.

It was a truss bridge. The struts and joints were rusted, but the rivets were still held comfortable in place. The deck, of concrete, had brown lines across it were the water had formed streams across. The bits of paint that had not been eaten away by the years of neglect and subjection to the Chicago elements proved that it must have been a brilliant shade of red like the Golden Gate. Upon closer inspection I could see a set a train tracks on it with the now brown weeds that grew in the cracks by the wood ties.

We started to cross it, and, contrary to my expectations it did not even creak under our feet or over our heads. We made it completely across and saw that the island was empty. I turned around to make completely sure that we weren't followed repositioned the bridge. We walked on the continuing railroad. There were some decrepit old cars about a dozen yards in where the windows were intact, but covered in dirt. I wiped some of the material off and looked inside. The keys were in the ignition and the radios were still inside the console. I walked to the driver's side door and it opened without me having to hack it. The inside of the car was clean, and had the still had the new car smell in it, though it was faint.

I stood up out of the car and watched as Jackson was looking around. The gears were turning in his head. I didn't dare to ask him what he was thinking because sooner or later he would say what it was. Clara was looking down at her phone and before I could ask her anything she walked away towards the other end of the island. I put in my earpiece, knowing that she was going to call.

In my ear, she said, "I found the entrance to this bunker."

"So it is real?" I asked with a mixture of curiosity, disbelief, and sarcasm.

"I told you, but it seems that there are four sources of electricity for this place. One of them is switched on, but you have to find the other three and flip the switches."

I accessed the ctOS and followed the path that it laid out for the first of the switches.

"Stay put, Jackson," I said, knowing that he wouldn't have followed me anyway. He was smarter than his uncle and nodded affirmatively at my command for him to stay on terra firma. I handed him the other headset I had and he put it on seeming to know how it was done. He tested it and it worked for both of us.

This switch was located on the roof of the building nearest to the bridge. There was a cherry picker near the facade and I used it with ctOS to lift me halfway up the brick wall. There was a ledge at about shoulder height that stretched from where the cherry picker was to a section of a lower roof on the same building. I shimmied across it and landed safely on that place on the roof. I turned around again and saw the unmistakable look of awe on his face.

"How did you-" He stammered.

"I don't know how out of shape you think I am," I jested, before getting serious, " Look, I'm going to have to go up in a place you can't see me. I'll be back in five minutes, I swear."

He only nodded in understanding.

I walked on and the circuit breaker box came into my view it was on another roof that was connected to mine by a reinforced duct. I walked gingerly across the duct making quite sure to not make any sudden moves. I made it across and found that the breaker was enclosed in a fence with a chain link gate in front of it. Much to my surprise the gate was not locked. I lifted the lever and turned the power on. There was a substantial rumble with a crackling followed by a low sustained hum that reverberated.

"Aiden," Clara said, "That was quick."

"When it comes to business there's no need to take too long."

I did the reverse of all of the steps I had taken and was back on solid ground. That was only one out of three. My phone told me that the next circuit breaker was was a couple of hundred yards away.

Jackson and I reached it and this one was a greater puzzle. It seemed that the box was tucked behind some shipping containers. I had to climb up and over several of the rusted containers and jump down some more on the other side of what was like an urban pyramid. I flipped the second switch. Again there was a rumble that only faded into a hum.

"Okay," Clara started, "The lights are on now."

"How much do you work out, Uncle Aiden?" Jackson's wonderment was more amusing than I would like to admit, partly because I've slowed down quite a bit in the last few years.

"I exercise when I can." I answered as I was making my way back to him.

"That must be a lot," he answered.

When I reached him again and he grabbed my bicep and felt how firm they were. He compared them to his.

"I want arms and legs like yours." He said as we started to make our way to the last of the generators.

"Well, this is easily achievable, if and only if, your willing to work for it. It won't happen overnight but, I promise if you work on it the same way you work on your other subjects you'll be stronger than me. Well, stronger than I." I don't know what made my inner English teacher pop up.

"Stronger than you, huh." He sounded skeptical.

"I guarantee it."

"So there's no more contact with the outside world?" He asked in a wild and sad change of subject.

"No, it's not safe," I had to start honestly, "There are some evil people who are paying and being paid just to come after you and me and Clara. And I want you to know this," I stopped in my tracks and squared to look him in the eyes, "It's not your fault and it was never your fault. Sometimes people go astray and they lose perspective as to what's right and wrong. The bad people who are after us are really just sad, lost people. They are after you for nothing that you said or did. Understand?"

I rose again.

"I understand, but why us?"

Now I lied, "I don't know. And that's the scariest thing. That is one of the things I just don't know."

We did the only thing we could and resumed the silence, though this time it was not in awe of me but in dread of the days ahead.

The third fuse was way up on a taller building at the end of the island opposite the bridge. I had to climb over some containers and even ride in one to reach the fifth story of the structure. The fuse was again behind an opened gate. I flipped the switch and for the third time there was a rumble, but this time it was louder and the whole island rumbled and quaked.

* * *

We took container lift that was modified to give us access to the 'bunker'.

Bunker wasn't really the best word. The space was expansive. When the door opened on the modified shipping container we were greeted with at least four stories of open space. The four brick walls were lined with walkways. It was a warehouse that had been transformed into something else. From our vantage, we were on the third level of the catwalks. Down in the space there was a giant monitor made up of smaller screens which could be controlled. There were several servers behind the screens and behind the chairs set up in front of the computers.

The second tier had many rooms along the wall. They were labelled. Jackson ran down the stairs and peaked into all of them. He was still wearing his earpiece so I could hear everything he was saying to me.

"There's a kitchen, with big stove, like in the back of a restaurant!"

A door slammed, running huffing, "A bathroom, with a big shower like the ones a public pool. And there's a bedroom and another bedroom, and another. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, twelve bedrooms."

"You can only pick one, kid." I reminded him.

"Fine." He huffed, feigning disappointment. He ran downstairs to Clara and I followed him.

She was seated looking contemplatively at the screens, all of which only had the local television channels.

"What now?" They both asked simultaneously.

* * *

Sorry, it's been so long, but it takes time. This is where the juicy part of the story starts. Leave a review! Any ¿questions? PM me.


	7. II-2

THE BUNKER, DECEMBER 25th, 17:56

"What now?" They both asked simultaneously.

I tried my best to figure out an answer and I spoke haltingly. "The plan is this. Jackson you won't be going back to school, but you are going to be in school. Everyday, you will have lessons in math, English, social studies, science, and you will work out to build those muscles up. Clara, you're going to be an au pair of sorts."

"I am not a domestic." She responded.

"I know."

"I am not some forgotten housewife from 1955."

"Of course you aren't, but," I paused and looked down, "Jackson could you go and pick a room."

"Alright." He went walking up the stairs and I whispered as he looked around.

"Thank God, all of those rooms are furnished." My voice was just a murmur. I got closer to her ear so that she could hear me, "I'll leave him enough work so that he won't get in your w-"

"Zat is not the problem. In fact I want to be a teacher to him. I'll teach him French and Coding, but I will not 'ave you thinking of me as mother hen."

"I could never think of you that way and besides, I'm going to need your help at this computer when I'm out there killing some bad guys."

"That is the Aiden Pearce I want to hear." She said. I backed up because the intimacy was becoming too much for me. Haltingly, she started to speak again, "I can't help my nervousness about this. I mean, if this is as big as it seems, we're taking on some serious powers. There's no way to tell how big this is or how high up this goes."

"We have to start with what we know. Whoever this is, is into computers. They know how ctOS works and they know who _we_ are."

"OK."

I continued, "They not only knew where I lived, but hey knew that Jackson was there too."

"How can you tell that?"

"Think about it. If they only wanted me they could have done away with just me," I reasoned.

"They tried," she stated, "That's why that fool tried to break in earlier."

"Exactly," I argued, "Whoever employed him was watching. It could have been through ctOS he could have been hooked up with something."

"But that doesn't explain why they would be after him." She was confused.

"He survived and that makes him a witness. He might have looked the killer in the eyes before he pulled the trigger."

"But-"

"In that kind of life any witness is a bad fucking thing."

"I understand."

Jackson came bounding down the stairs. "I picked my room. Number 12. It has a great view of the skyline."

"Alright, room 12."

* * *

19:55

I left the bunker about an hour ago in pursuit of food and maybe some presents. I was surprised to see that the stores were opening up for the big return rush tomorrow. I stopped at the supermarket. He couldn't remember the last time he went to a supermarket. I picked up what he thought was most necessary: a couple loaves of bread, a gallon of milk, cereal, a couple dozen eggs, a pound of bacon, five packs of bottled water, several packs of batteries of all sizes, a few frozen pizzas, a bag of ice, a first aid kit, etc. I approached the register the only register open. The cashier, a little old lady, smiled at me. I read her nametag.

"You look so familiar. Are you on television?" Varla Mae asked.

"I get that a lot, miss."

"Well if you're not on tv you have the perfect face for it. Nowadays they'll put just about anything on television. Don't ya think?" she inquired, as she scanned the groceries.

"I guess, talent isn't really necessary anymore," I said quite amused with this old lady. He looked around and saw that the store was empty except for the two of them. "What're you doing here by yourself at five to eight in the evening on Christmas Day?"

"Well, honey," she started, "I own this store, and I don't have much to do on Christmas nowadays. I figure I might as well open up and get some of the last minute business. Besides with my friend, Sig, protecting me here and in the back."

"Sig?" I asked with a smirk, knowing full well where she was going.

"Mr. Sig Sauer, of course," she said patting side. She had scanned the last item. "That'll be $95.13, sir."

I pulled out five twenties, and let her keep the change. "Merry Christmas."

"Same to you sweetheart."

* * *

THE BUNKER, 20:21

"Pizza sounds fine to me," Jackson said much to my relief.

"Really, you're being quite mature about this," I said, "I'm proud of you."

"Well there's nothing I can do about this. I know that you tried your best, and if we have to live here now, I'll have to get used to it," he said logically. I wondered where the hell he got the sense from.

* * *

THE BUNKER, 22:56

Jackson had gone to bed in Room 12 and now it was only Clara and I.

"What are we going to do?" She asked.

"I already said. We are going to have to hack into the ctOS." I replied.

"Zat is what I have been trying to do. To unlock these places we need proximity. You have to physically type in the codes to gain access." She revealed.

"Life can never be easy huh. What do I do?"

"Well I _was_ able to get the schematics for all of the ctOS towers. They have the same design with slightly varied layouts owing to the lay of the land. Slight complication, Blume has just started hiring vets and other security contractors to guard the sites. There's two things you can do. You can sneak in and do these thing with stealth or you can go in the loud, stupid, macho way."

"How many of these towers do I actually have to gain access to fulfil the mission." I wasn't trying to cut corners; I was trying to minimize risk.

"All of them." She stated seriously.

"Shit, that's not good news."

"Can any good thing come from Chicago."

"No," and that was my honest answer. "Now about Jackson, we need to set up a routine. Kids need consistency, and when there is transition, it must be smooth." I sounded like a television psychologist.

"You're right. Is there any way you can get his teacher to… no that can't happen." The thought she had died.

"We have to make up a curriculum. He left his schoolbag in the car so we have all of his textbooks."

"I will teach him French and how to code," she sounded excited.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to start destroying ctOS. Are you ready for that?" I asked and I saw as all of the excitement and, dare I say, joy, slip from her face.

"Surely you can wait a week. Start this in the new year. Spend a week with us so that we can get used to this new life."

"I don't want any of us to get used to this. We are out of the ctOS and we are probably the freest people in Chicago and we're trapped in a prison! There's no one watching our every step anymore, but now we're trapped. It's backwards." I was frustrated with the whole thing.

"There's nothing in history that wasn't backwards, we're no exception." She said.

"I know, but I am going to start making all of this right. I'm going to find the bastard killed my sister and niece and whoever employed him. I'm going to find whoever aided and abetted. Whoever is complicit, whoever is involved is as good as dead."

"Before you get to the top you have to get in first. So if you're ready to start tomorrow, we can start this tomorrow."

* * *

DECEMBER 26th, 08:14

"Where are you going?" Jackson asked again. It was the third time he asked me.

"I'm going out." I said.

"Out where?"

"I'm going to see some people so that we can get out of here, for good." I hated being so vague, but I could not tell a nine year old, even one who was this smart and mature, what the case really was.

"I'm scared," he confessed, "Everyday something happens. I don't understand. I don't even know if I want to understand. People shoot at you. People try to blow you up. Why can't we just stay here. We're safe here."

"The world is a scary place," I started, "And I admit that there are a lot of bad people out there, but we can't stay inside all of the time."

I knelt and got down to his eye level, "Look, the world has a lot more good people in it than bad. The bad just seem to outshine what regular, honest people do. I'm going out to make sure that the bad people leave us alone."

"How are you going to do that?" He asked.

"I am going to show them that it is not right what they're doing."

"But, how?"

"You are a bright kid," I started, "I know it, Clara knows it, and most of all you know it. You understand a lot more than you should already. You're maturing and growing, but that is something I will have to explain to you when you grow up just a little bit more. In the meantime, I want you to think about it. What would be the best way for me to protect good people from bad people. What's the best way to get through to the confused people?"

"Maybe-"

I interrupted him, "Write it all down and when I come back later, I'll make sure that the first thing I do is read it."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I rose from where I was, and was about to take a step, when he grabbed my leg, "Promise me you'll be back soon."

"I promise."

"Pinky swear."

I did as I was told and in exchange he loosened his grip on me. I climbed the stairs to board the 'elevator' and leave. I felt his eyes drilling holes into me the entire time.

* * *

10:40

The Loop was the first server I had to gain entry to. It was the biggest and provided the largest and most important area of ctOS 'protection'. In consideration of those facts I knew that I was going to have to arm myself to the teeth. Guns have always been easy to come across in this town. When the mob ran weapons, all you needed was the cash upfront. The only difference now was that you needed a valid Illinois ID.

I had one of those, though the name on it was William Langley.

So, with ease and almost unbelievable convenience, William Langley purchased a couple of assault rifles and a sawn-off shotgun. I had already owned a pistol. As I was exiting, I saw it in all its glory. It was a marksman's dream sniper rifle. It's long black barrel was fitted with a flash clip could hold twelve rounds and the scope was within one one thousandth of an inch at fifteen hundred yards. The person on the wrong end of this thing would see and hear no evil.

I arrived at the sight of the server about fifteen minutes later. I put my earpiece in place. Clara was going to have to rely on audio for the blow by blow. We couldn't risk Jackson seeing on the big screens.

"Can you hear me Clara?" I asked into the piece.

"Yes, loud and clear." She answered.

"Then turn me down, it's about to get loud. Even with the silencer, it's still very noisy business."

She did as instructed, and turned down her volume.

A few words on the layout of this site: It was indeed a site. They were actively construction a building on the land. From my vantage there was a dirt alley in between twin buildings under construction. The dirt most assuredly came from the digging that precedes the laying of a foundation. My phone was indicating the building under construction on the right was where could gain access. The server itself must have been miles away or even offshore. Anyway, the structure that contained the point of access was far from complete. It was only a collection a concrete slabs. There were no walls, that is to say that the facade had not been started yet. I would have to be careful not to walk to close to the edge. Where the alley met the sidewalk, the construction company had erected a gate that was probably powered by ctOS. Over that alley there was a bridge where the two buildings would be connected on the third story. Behind that gate there was a strong looking guard armed with an AR-15. I could only assume that there were at least a few more that I could not see.

I steeled and stilled myself and loaded up. I put on my gloves and looked at the 'Black Beauty'. I decided against using her her now. It was not time for the sniper rifle yet. I would have to fight this in a conventional, face-to-face sort of way. I wore my vest and proceeded out of the sight of the security guard at the gate toward the entrance.

I stood at the edge of the gate against some those large sheets of particleboard that say 'POST NO BILLS'.

I used my phone to open the gates. The guard came outside to investigate and I ended him with a swift bullet to the head. This assault weapon in my hands had a silencer, but you could only make such loud gun but so quiet. The pedestrians who had not seen or otherwise ignored the fact that I was carrying a death machine took heed and scurried. If any of them had tried to call 911 they would have been wasting their time. I had but my phone on 'Jam-Com' mode which disallowed any electronic communication from happening in a five hundred foot radius. 911 callers got a busy signal. Those on walkie-talkies only heard static and the only signal that could get through was mine.

"What the fuck was that?" I heard another guard say, before he came out to investigate. I shot him right in the heart.

Another guard came out and immediately turned towards me, but before he could fire. I put one through his neck. A rhythmic squirt of the red stuff came flowing out of the hole that I had created. It was like I was playing some shitty video game.

I proceeded all the way to edge of my cover. I peeked my head out from behind the miniature pillar that acted as the housing for the machinery that opened and closed the chain link. There were only two more Blume men who were on ground level with me. One was hiding behind a pile of piping and the other was obscured by a pickup truck. They were both also only playing to peeking game.I started to shoot unmercifully at the truck until I hit my real target, the gas tank. IT blew up like nobody's business, and the sad part was that the jackass did not have the sense to move from beside the fucking truck. Now, all I smelled was burning gasoline and roasting fiberglass. Luckily enough for me, the target who was standing on top of the bridge was jarred by the shock wave of the explosion and fell forward . He hit the ground head first from almost forty feet up so I didn't worry about him anymore.

The enemy behind the the piping emerged, "You can't fucking kill me motherfuck-"

I interrupted him with a gunshot to the groin. I wasn't aiming there in particular, but whatever power that was in charge made the bullet go through there. I ran over and shot between his eyes for good measure.

I rushed into the building and heard the footsteps other men wearing boots.

I shouted into the space, "If you drop your weapons and run you can see your families tonight. If you stay you die." I heard the sound of one gun hitting the concrete and a pair of feet running away from me. Then after that the sound of a car speeding off in the distance.

I did not let my guard down, because I knew that there was at least one more Blume contractor in there. I reloaded right there and walked further into the site. The first floor was clear. But as I climbed to the second story he was standing at the top of the ramp. He fired at me and I heard the bullet whizz past my right ear. I did not miss, in part because I had switched out to my shotgun while checking the ground floor.

My cell phone buzzed, telling me that there were no more threats in the area.

I found the access point in a couple of minutes. It was on the second story and it was a small server that to most would look unimportant to most, but I knew better. I connected and put in the codes that allowed my access.

access granted

And for less than a second all of the lights in the loop went out. If you weren't paying attention, you would have missed it or discounted it as a temporary flicker.

* * *

Sorry, it has been so long, but stuff tends to get in the way of me writing. Anyway enjoy. Review or PM me if you have any questions.


	8. II-3

Another chapter...

* * *

DECEMBER 26th, 15:33

I walked into the bunker, dead tired. It was Chicago at the end of December, so it was fucking cold out. They were talking about some Polar Vortex shit descending down from Canada over the next week. That was supposed to make the temperature plummet into the negatives. I grew up in Chicago in the 70's. I was a little kid but I remember seventy-seven into seventy-eight was bad and the next winter was worse.

I pushed those thoughts out of my head as I took all of this gear off. I left the guns in the car as there was no need for him to see them. Knowing Jackson, he would have put it together in two seconds. I was descending down the stairs.

I was surprised that Jackson didn't appear at all. I reached Clara and asked her, "Where is he?" She did not turn around to look at me. She was focus on some of the Codes on the screen

"He's in the lounge." She answered quickly.

"What lounge?" I did not know what she was talking about.

"Up the stairs and its four doors down from his room."

"I-" I stopped myself because she was trying to concentrate. Whatever she was working on, I would see it later on, anyway.

I went back up the stairs to see this conservatory. I followed the directions that Clara gave me. I walked past room twelve, then fourteen (the builder must have be superstitious and skipped room 13), then fifteen, then sixteen, finally there was a door that looked different from the others. It had the word "LOUNGE" written in big bold letters. I opened it, only to find a dim corridor and another flight of stairs, I had to climb. At the top of those stairs was another door, a plain one like all the others, except painted black. The word "LOUNGE" also appeared on in in big yellow, seventies-esque letters.

I climbed the stairs and opened the door.

The space was wide, deep, and simply amazing. Of course all rooms have four walls and a ceiling, but this room was special. The wall with the plain black door was made of red bricks. The other three walls were made of completely of glass. The ceiling too was made of glass. It was the definition of belvedere. The glass that was opposite the brick wall showed one of the best views of The Loop that I had ever seen. Many spent millions of dollars trying to get vistas like this.

The windows were perfect as if they were built from one piece of glass. The glass that formed the ceiling met the wall at curved edges that resembled water cascading off of a steep cliff. Jackson was sitting at one of the tables, which by description were like picnic tables you'd find in a park. He was writing with one of those cheap ballpoints that companies used to advertise. It had a big 'ctOS' on it, written. I chuckled a little and he looked up when he realized that I was there.

"You're back!" He was excited.

"I told you that I would be back." I said.

"I finished my homework," he said, handing me a couple pieces of paper that he attached by folding the top left corner back. "Read it out loud."

I read aloud, as he asked, "Cutting through Confusion by Jackson Pearce," I smiled a little remembering when I started all of my papers in school like that.

I continued, "There are more than six billion people on Earth, We speak different languages, worship different gods, and eat different foods. WE all go through good emotion and bad emotions. Confusion is one of them. The dictionary say that confusion is 'the state of being unable to think with clarity or act with intelligence and understanding.' Surely every person encounters this in life.

"The problem is that Dad," I paused at the word dad. The first thing I felt was shock. Then I felt really proud that he thought he could call me that.

"Dad," he'd done it again, "keep reading."

"Alright, son," those words felt fine in my mouth and I looked back down at the page, "...said that there are people who are chronically confused. They are stuck in a cycle of bad choices and worse consequences. I thought for a long time about this. Peace was the only answer that I could think of. For me, peace is something that goes beyond simply not fighting. It's about understanding every point of view. It is about understanding where the sufferers confusion comes from.

There must be all sorts of motives for doing and saying bad things. I know that it must be out job to try and figure out why. I don't know all of the reason and I sure that nobody does, but if we could figure it out all people, no matter where they are could start to fix the problems that exist between them.

"I believe that there are some basic things that human beings desire. All people desire to be happy. All people want to love and be loved. All people want to be free to do and say as they please. All people want privacy. All people want to have faith in something and to hope for a brighter future for the people who come after them. All of us want the same thing. All of those things can be obtained if we live in peace with each other."

"Peace can be reached through understanding. But, how do we get to understanding? Instead of fighting we, as a race, can be calm. Instead shouting we can listen."

"Wow," I was blown away, "you wrote this by yourself."

"It was just me and the dictionary." I looked and saw the dictionary.

"Where did you get it from?"

"It was in a room downstairs. It didn't have a number. It was just labels 'BOOKS AND DOCUMENTS' I needed a thesaurus; I couldn't find one so, I got the dictionary as the next best thing."

"Well, I'll take a look at this room later, but now you're going to have to learn twenty-five spelling words." I sounded a bit like a sadistic teacher. "I'll test you on these words on the Second."

"School never ends."

"Never."

* * *

Having given him his spelling words, I made my way back into the bunker proper. She was still sitting in the chair looking intently at the screen.

" _Crisse!"_ She screamed in what sounded like a mixture of excitement (the bad kind) shock and disgust. I couldn't be exactly sure, of course, because according to Clara, Americans have a very monotone speech pattern. Her yelp of excitement could have been good.

"What is it?" I asked approaching her and the screens,

"Everyone who lives in The Loop, or works in The Loop, or has even been in The Loop… Look." She made three keystrokes S S N.

Suddenly the screen went black, "Well that's excit-"

Out of nowhere gray Times New Roman names started to roll up the screen like credits at the end of a movie. Next to the names were their Social Security Numbers.

 _Their Fucking Social Security Numbers._

AARON AABE - XXX-XX-XXXX

AARON AARDRE - XXX-XX-XXXX

AARON ADAMS - XXX-XX-XXXX

AARON ADAMS (2) - XXX-XX-XXXX

AARON ADAMSON - XXX-XX-XXXX

You get the picture. Names in perfect alphabetical order and the most important number has for life.

"Jesus Christ," I could hardly contain my disdain.

"It gets worse."

"I can't imagine how-"

I was interrupted by the sound of the 4 PM WKZ news bulletin. The screen changed to alive stream of the news.

 _Good Afternoon, I'm John Huntingdon and here's the news._

 _The fires that devastated two houses yesterday in Parker Square are finally out. The fires that broke out at neighboring houses in the neighborhood were deemed to be non-suspicious although several neighbors claimed to hear multiple explosions._

 _SOUNDBITE "I just heard two big booms and both of the houses were in flames."_

 _Both houses were occupied, but the police do not know who or where either of the owners are. Neighbors described the residents on one of the houses as a white male in his late thirties and child of about ten years old. The owner of the other residence was said to be a white female about twenty to twenty-five years old. If you have any information on either of these people CPD wants you to give them a call._

 _In other news, there was a localized ctOS failure in the Loop today. Just before 11AM an area of about a six block radius was not able to communicate. The area immediately surrounding the construction site of the new Blume Towers was knocked out. There was no internet, no cell signal, and even landlines only gave a dial tone. When a number was dialled no matter what the number, callers got a message saying that their calls 'could not be completed as dialed'. Even calls to 911, which are supposed to be affected by ctOS glitches was inaccessible for several hours. Several passers-by also said that they heard gunfire from the construction site. A statement from Blume reads in part, "Today's service outage was the result of an critical error in the Central Operating System. The error was corrected we are actively taking steps to prevent such errors from recurring. No personal information was compromised and no saved data was lost. At the construction site there was a safety drill that made use of firearms firing blanks. our security handled the drill with speed and unparalleled professionalism."_

 _And now the weather-_

Clara cut off the power there.

I was steamed, "No personal data lost. You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"It gets worse." she typed three more letters into the computer. S U R.

The screen went black again and instead of coming back on suddenly, it faded back on to a strange gray.

"Give me any number," she said.

"3-2-7." I ran off without think about it or knowing.

She typed that in and a pinwheel appeared on the screen like on a video streaming surface.

It stopped spinning and the screen went from milky gray to showing the interior of a house. "Don't tell me that we're looking through somebody's webcam."

"Then I won't tell you," she said, "but that is exactly what this is."

"So let me get this straight. I can steal your identity and then, to add insult, spy on you."

"Yes," she said plainly, "If I type in M-E-D, I have their medical records. M-O-M, and I have a printable birth certificate. L-A-W runs a background check. U-S-$ pulls up a bank statement. W-E-B pulls up their web history, which I can edit. I can edit someone's life and make them disappear. I can make fake people. I can make and do anything with just a few keystrokes."

* * *

DECEMBER 27th, 08:17

I decided that it was best to lay low today and not go into town. The reason multifaceted. First, it was fucking cold and I didn't feel like going anywhere to do serious work. Second, I had to relieve Clara at the main computer for a day so she can take a break and start Jackson's French lessons.

The lounge upstairs became the classroom. In that room where Jackson found the dictionary, there was more than just books and reference. There was one of those double-sided chalkboards on wheels. I did the awkward task of bringing it up with a box of chalk in my pocket. She said that she was going to teach him the old school way. So long as his brain was stimulated, I didn't care.

I left them to it, and donned some clothes. As I said, I wasn't going into town, but I was going to find some clothes. There must have been thousands of shipping containers on this island. They couldn't all be empty. I was sure that I could find somethings that were not perishable in them. I'm sure that there were clothes, soap, and other necessities hiding somewhere amongst the boxes.

* * *

I started from the far side of the island. I had a bolt cutter in the car and made use of it now. I started at the top of one of the 'container mountains' with a red container, no name on it.

I squeezed the handles and the confounded parts of the padlock fell onto the container beneath it with two thuds. I opened the container and it squeaked from lack of lubrication. There was a whole lot of air where the contents would be.

I opened another one. Same.

Same.

Same.

Same...

On the thirty-ninth container, I found exactly what I wanted kids clothing. The stuff was in bulk of course, because it was originally destined for stores. I left it open to bring the car, for it could hold more than I could carry.

* * *

"So there's no running out of socks?" Jackson asked.

"No, I have about four hundred pairs here."

"And I'll never run out of things to wear?"

"Nope, eighty hoodies, seventy shirts, ninety-five pairs of pants."

"That's too weird," he said.

"I know and all of the shirts are different. The hoodies are all in different colors or styles, and the pants are all unique."

"And they're all my size?" He asked.

"Yes."

"And they're all washed and don't have a lot of starch in the store."

"No," I answered, wondering how he could have known all of this and where the clothes came from.

They were all folded and washed and ironed. It was just too damn perfect.

"Jackson," I said with a plan hatching in my head, "You said that you wanted muscles like me."

"Yeah," he said eagerly.

"Then, it's time to exercise."

* * *

There will be some more gunplay in the next chapter. Until then, leave a review or PM me.

-Where'n'why


	9. II-4

Sorry for the delay, but college applications took priority these last few weeks. I am not neglecting my works on this site, and when this hellish application process is over, I'll get the chance to continue my stories with more regularity.

* * *

DECEMBER 31, 10:49, PAWNEE

Clara found out that Blume was going to be doing 'maintenance' today. That was one of the gentler pieces of information we had misfortune to see on the monitors when we got into the Loop. In a strange twist it turned out that I had to disable the Pawnee access point next for that would be the location of the actual repairs. Pawnee was a bit of a strategic challenge. It was by far the most secure of the points in the city, and I only imagine that it is more protected now.

The town itself surrounded a lake and the river that flowed into it. I am standing on the Western Shore and it was about 500 yards to the island. The island, called Piquanessett, was small. It used to actually be inhabited by about a dozen or so families who made their money on the fish they caught in Lake Pawnee and in the river. The houses of those people were still standing, but the good people whose families had owned their plots for more than a century were forced to sell. Eminent Domain they called it. Blume was doing a service for Chicago and, by extension, Pawnee and therefore the families were compelled to move. They may have gotten double what their properties were worth, but that didn't justify anything.

Now the island looked like a fortress. The lighthouse on it used to be painted with white and red horizontal stripes. The white stripes were painted over with black and the shade of red was adjusted to look like blood.

Putting on my binoculars, I started to make observations about the side of the island I had to attack from. On the side parallel to the Western Shore, the seemed to be a small dock with three or so jetties sticking out into the water. There was an armed goon standing on the jetty and two or three more on the land itself. I anticipated that there would be dozens more on the island especially after the breach a few days ago.

This time I would use my sniper rifle. I put the binoculars down, got into a prone position and aimed at the grunt standing on the jetty. I had to aim this just right to get the desired result. He was wearing a vest, so if I shot there, there would be penetration, but not lethal. A headshot would be too easy and too obvious. I looked around again, and of course there was no one around to see me. I looked again at the little flag at the end of the jetty. When firing from this far I have to account and adjust for even the slightest breeze. I aimed at the spot I wanted.

Finger on the trigger.

Pull. BANG!

I hit the spot. His left kneecap. I shattered his patella and the shattered joint could not support his weight. He leant forward and fell into the frigid water. I watched it like a silent film as the two others went running towards their fallen colleague. They threw out a life preserver as the man flailed in the 34 degree water. He could not grab it and after a few more seconds he stopped fighting it and quit moving.

The colleagues must not have noticed the blood on the deck or that was surely pouring out of the deceased party. They just stood there and stared at the corpse as if it were going to reanimate.

I took the opportunity and shot the goon on my left in the center of his forehead. There was a small explosion of red and some material violently gushed out. The other guard turned to run and I put a bullet right through the back of his neck and he collapsed.

That was it for what I could see from afar. I got up from my position, hid the gun on my person, and got down into the boat that I 'acquired' earlier.

I raced over to the little island and disembarked onto the jetty. The blood was already starting to freeze over. The bodies were getting cold, but that didn't ruin the ammo, so I collected it and the money that they were carrying. I took out my AK-47 and got ready for a lengthy assault. My phone was jamming the coms and there did not seem to be any alarm on the island. I started to make my way up the stairs onto the terra firma of the island. I tread, or trod, softly, though I knew that the entire island would be aware of me the second I fired.

"Hey, what are you doing?" I heard from behind me. I turned my head to right and saw that there was a guard looking not at me, but another guard.

"Nothing." The other said.

"No, you're doing something."

"Trying to text my girl. The service is acting all weird. You got a problem with that?" He was defensive.

"Yes. We gotta be on point. After what happened in town, we gotta be alert."

"This is an island, we would be able to see an enemy coming from the water." He reasoned, still fiddling with his phone.

"This guy's a fucking trickster, he could be anywhere."

I figured that it was time to start the party in earnest. I shot the guard who confronted the other in the head. He fell onto the cold ground immediately. The other just raised his arms. You see, Blume guards don't carry pistols, they go around carrying assault rifles. The poor fool put his gun down to text his girlfriend.

"Don't shoot me," he pleaded, "I'm proposing to her at midnight. Don't fucking shoot me, man."

"Shut up," I said as I approached him.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!" I heard someone shout in the distance.

I used the barrel of my gun to signal to him, and said, "Answer him."

"Nothing, just checking my gun," the scared grunt answered quickly. "Handbook says you have to fire it periodically on cold days."

By the time he finished the sentence, I was point blank. We both listened for the response from the distant yeller. The life of my hostage depended on if the owner of the voice investigated.

"WELL, WARN SOMEONE WHEN YOU'RE GOING TO GIVE THEM A fucking heart att-" the voice faded as the possessor of it walked away.

My captive now turned his attention back to me. I was still holding the gun close to his face. He was sweating bullets despite it probably only being about 18 degrees out here.

"What do you want?" he asked, frantically. I looked at him and saw that he was a younger guy, but that the skin tone, hair color, and eye color was just right.

"Take off the uniform." I commanded, gears turning in my head.

"What the fu-"

"Take off the uniform. I know you're wearing clothes underneath." He started to remove his uniform, and conveniently for me the ID on the side was one of those shitty digital photos that distorted his features. "What is your name?"

"Trent," he said as he finally wriggled free of the vest, "Trent Adams."

"Well, Trent, if you want to live, you're going to cooperate. You are not going to move from behind this building." I looked around and saw where his gun was; Quickly kicked it into the water and watched as it sank. "You can't call anyone, either. I cut the service. If this all works out right, you'll get to keep your life. S'that clear?"

"No," he half shouted, as he charged at me, probably thinking he had a shot, because he was only an inch shorter than me. The move he made to me was like that of line-backer. His shoulder and his head got low and he ran to me like a bull. As he got within a distance of about two feet. I hit him over the head with the barrel of the gun. I knocked him out and his limp body fell on the concrete.

"Jackass," I muttered.

I changed into his clothes and grabbed the other guards gun. I knew that I could blend in well enough for this new plan I hatched to work. I walked towards the lighthouse, where, the server was. About 100 feet in front of it, there was a guard standing, armed just as I was. He stopped me, "Identify yourself."

I showed him 'my' identification. He repeatedly looked at the picture and then at me. "I thought that Tech was coming later."

"I'm just the prep guy."

"Well, prep guy," he took out his walkie talkie. He spoke into it, I did not attack him something, my gut, told me that this was bluff. He spoke into it, "Did Tech send a prep?"

"Don't know," the supervisor answered, "What's his clearance code?"

I knew that memorizing that code before I got here was a good idea, do I ran it off, "ETU88909"

"Sounds legit," replied the idiot in my face, "You computer geeks know, all those numbers and shit."

I suppressed the urge to laugh. Don't think that I've ever been called computer geek.

I walked in, and as I suspected the lighthouse was full of servers. I plugged my phone into one of the ports. The hacking was easier this time. They seemed to let their guard down right before this update. I saw something interesting. It seemed that they wanted overhaul their firmware. Well, I took a bite out of it, so that I knew how to get in later. I gained complete access into the Pawnee.

* * *

12:16

I got on the same boat that I arrived on, after I finished my dirty work. As I was three-fourths of the distance away from the island, I heard the alarm sound and the bells ring. I turned behind me, but they could not see me. They would lock down the island and leave no stone unturned, and I would be long gone.

I disembarked from my vessel and got into the same car I came in. I turned it on, and waited for the heat to kick on.

* * *

14:00

"I see you're back," Varla Mae said from her cash register, "You won't believe what's going on."

"What?" I asked.

"Seems like ctOS went out in Pawnee for a spell."

"Oh really?" I faked concern

"Yup, it was on the news just now, they broke into my stories," she pointed to an old boxy, American television she had mounted to the wall. "They say, you know, Blume said that it was not an outage but an update to make it 'uncrackable'."

"Looks like Blume would lie about anything." I said, more to myself, she did not hear me.

"You know, I don't like it. They say that it can predict crime. It's always watching, but it's spying on innocent people like us." I dismissed the comment, and found just what I was looking for, some of that sparkling apple cider for the one of us who couldn't drink. I got a bottle of the real bubbly for the adults.

* * *

Review or PM. I'll be sure to reply as quickly as possible.

-Where'n'why


	10. II-5

Sorry for the delay, but midterms and college stuff gets in the way. I'm back now. Enjoy.

* * *

DECEMBER 31, 23:50

All of those fools were on the bank of the river counting down. There were only 600 seconds left in 2012 and I was ready to say goodbye to it. 2012 had been too much for me to bear. I had seen things, smelled things, felt terrible things before. But feeling the warm blood of my sister on my hands. Hearing a little girl gasp for breath, and hearing those last attempts at life stop. Silence makes your ears ring. Red on your hands makes them sore, worse than the physical trauma and the forces that your body has been put through.

Smelling hair and flesh burn, hearing in the sirens approach when you know that it's too late, that's 2012. Watching from across the street, as a brilliant yellow-orange flash fills your house for a split second, followed by all of the windows shattering out, that's 2012. Having to explain to a child that he had no liberty, he could not feel the breeze through his fingers or see the sun outside and not through a window. Every night before I close my eyes to sleep, wondering, hoping, praying to a God who probably isn't listening that the kid, my son for all intensive purposes, did not have post-traumatic stress. It's sick, the whole thing is so _**FUCKING**_ sick. I took his life apart and now I was imprisoning him, and none of it was his fault. I failed in every possible way.

"Dad," a heard a voice say. "Dad."

I snapped back to reality, looked down, and saw him, "Yeah, kiddo." My voice sounded strange in my ears.

"Are you- Are you crying?"

I, in that instant, became acutely aware of the moisture around my eyes and the wetness on my cheeks, "I am crying," I said. I got down to to his level, wiping my face with my sleeve, "It's okay to cry. It's a good and healthy thing to do. You know, that's something I forget to do. I hold everything in sometimes and that's not good. I let some of it out right now. Whenever you wanna let it out, whenever you feel it just cry or scream or draw something, write something, do something that makes you feel better. I just want you to promise me that you're not holding anything in. Promise me." I hated how desperate I sounded.

"I'm not, I swear I'm not," he said. I believed him, as he spoke again, "I only think about it, well, all of this, when it's really quiet, right before I fall asleep. Sometimes I feel it. I feel sad, but I don't want to cry. I feel nothing. I feel numb."

"It'll get better, I promise."

Clara came in from whatever corner of the bunker she was in. There was something different about her, though the clothes were the same. I wondered when she got the time to wash them. She always smelled like vanilla and lavender, even after what seemed like days of sitting in front of the monitors, hacking and reading all of the information. She was glowing tonight. It may have been the soft glow of the computer screens, or the tiny bit of wetness that has collected on the ends of my eyelashes. Whatever the case was she looked different, in a good way, as she descended the stairs.

"So," she started as she was walking down, "Only a few more minutes to the new year."

"Yes," I said, "I'm quite done with this one. Let me go and get the champagne and cider from the fridge."

I started towards the kitchen, and I swore that I heard Clara say something, and then a giggle. I grabbed the two bottles and made my way back down the stairs. I saw her move her face from his ear and watched the knowing smirk vanish from his face. There was a strange sparkle in her that did not disappear.

* * *

23:59:55

Five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year!

* * *

Tuesday, January 1, 2013, 00:41

Jackson had gone to bed of his own accord.

Clara and I agreed to stop working, at least for now. We sat in our chairs taking glances at the screen and then at each other. We sat drinking the third or fourth bottle champagne from the stereotypical red cups that I bought at the supermarket.

"Happy fucking New Year even if we're trapped inside our little bubble." I said.

"You know," she started, the inebriation becoming identifiable by the slightest hint of a coquettish smile. "I almost kind of like the bunker."

My words were slurred a little and I felt the drunkenness in my head, "You're crazy, there's nothing to do in here. Nothing fun to do here, nothing at all."

"There is plenty if you look for it." She said.

"Where?" I took another sip and looked around in earnest, "I don't see any possible way to develop or grow."

"I am already develop in many, many ways, and," she said moving a bit closer, "I am sure that you grow."

"Well-" The words I wanted to say did not make it out. Whenever I got drunk there was a disconnection between the words I conjured up between my ears and the sounds I made.

She moved even closer, "You talk too much and you think too much."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I never get to see your passion and looking at the tension in your muscles, there's something under there."

"Passion, huh, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're trying to come on to me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said grinning.

"I ain't that drunk, and you ain't either. You know exactly what you're saying."

"And what am I saying?" She asked.

"You're the one saying it, aren't you? SO say it."

She came really close to me and put her mouth to my ear. She whispered breathily, "I want you to fuck me. Why don't we go up to my room and do what I want?"

"So that's the passion you want to see, huh?"

"I want to do more than see it."

I did not object when her hands went assertively, but gently towards my crotch. I heard a zip and felt warm and lightsome fingers starting their work.

* * *

09:12

"Oh, fuck," I groaned. My head was throbbing from all of that. Who the hell gets hungover from fizzy fermented grape juice, I don't know, but I am getting too old for this shit. Suddenly, I realized that there was something warm and soft on my legs and chest. I looked down and saw a white body covered in tattoos. Clara looked quite comfortable where she was, but I knew that would have to rouse her sooner rather than later.

"Clara," I whispered as I shook her gently to wake her, "Clara, we need to get up."

"Huh… what is the matt…" She sat up, looked at me (she was glowing and looked just as attractive as she did last night), and grabbed her head because she had a hangover too.

"Rise and shine." I said.

"What did we do last night?" She asked smirking because she knew damn well what happened last night.

"Everything, " I answered in truth.

"I am not that kind of girl,"she said, faux-demure

"Well, if you're really not that kind of girl, how did you know so much?" I asked.

"I am well-read."

"Judging by your voracity, you're well more than 'well-read'." I said.

"You made it quite _intuitive_. I want to be that interactive again tonight."

* * *

10:17

"So, when you end a command, you must end with a semicolon," I said, and he pressed semicolon. "Now press enter."

He followed what I said.

"Now, type 'dir' into the terminal."

"Wow, look at that." He said.

"Those are all of those files on this computer. That's the beauty of this whole thing. You can modify every piece of this." I took off of the desk, a book of computer commands that I found in the room with all of the office supplies. "Now to make this system do anything you want when you put your codes in. If you put good in you get good out. If you put bad in you get bad out. Enter some nonsense and you will get an error."

"Is that supposed to be a life lesson, too?"

"What can I say? You can read me like a book. Now read this one," I said handing him the book.

I pulled up a chair. I was going to see if he had any talent. It usually took a couple of hours to judge.

That's what Damien used to say.

In as many months I hadn't heard a word from him. He must be dead. Probably just an anonymous body on the side of the road or maybe just pieces of a body found one by one. But something in me told me that he wasn't dead. I would feel it, I would know it.

Maybe he was the one who left the clothes.

Whatever. I'm getting too old for this shit.

* * *

Review or send me a PM.


	11. II-6

JANUARY 1, 2013, 12:17

"Is this it? This can't be it. This is easy." He said, not turning to look at me but focused on the screen. The speed with which he was typing in the code was great for a beginner. He was efficient and specific. There was definitely some potential, but I knew that I would have to stay on top of it. First I asked him to destroy an OS. He did it in about fifteen minutes. Then I asked him to repair it. That only took him 25 minutes. The next few tasks I gave him were harder, but he quickly got through those.

"You can stop now," I said, "Luck is on our side. There are many grown men who'd be jealous that someone your age is actually able to do these things. This is really special and useful."

"It makes sense after a while. The book is in plain English." he said, not in a braggadocious way, but as a simple statement of a fact.

"It's not plain enough for some. So, here's what we're going to do. We, Clara and I, are going to put you through an intense course of coding because you will not always be in a calm environment like this one. Sometimes you'll have to type as fast as you can because someone is trying to hack you."

"That sounds awful."

"It is."

* * *

13:01

I wanted to check the trap I set last week to see who left the clothes. Again, the container was not too far from the bunker, only 50 yards away. I walked up to it slowly; there was no rush. And I started to think to myself in the cold and wind of the new year.

' _What's this about? Why am I here? Why am I the one who has to go through this. I know, I've done some bad things, and I'm sorry, but the kid doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve any of this.'_ I stopped moving as my preoccupations got the best of me.

' _He's not acting like any other nine year old. I couldn't sit still. I was always running around hurting myself, scraping my elbows and knees on the sidewalk, or on a high that only a child could obtain from sugar. But he, he, he's a different creature. He's smarter than I was, but there's something more to it. He knows more than he ought to, but that doesn't explain it. He's a little adult walking around, using judgement better than most. He's perceptive and nothing I can see makes sense.'_

I snapped out of it. Thinking about it was going to do nothing. I continued the trek to the container. The wind blew furiously on me as if it were scolding me. It was scolding me because it almost burned in its intensity on my face. As I drew closer to the container, I heard the distinct sound of a single person shuffling as if trying to hide. It was not an animal. Hell, I hadn't even seen any rats or squirrels. I pulled out my gun and cocked it. It was loaded, full clip with one in the chamber. If the person so much as blinked in a way I don't like, I was going to blow them away. The door was wide open and my finger was on the trigger as I walked in. Whoever it was, wasn't the smartest (then again most of the assholes I have to deal with aren't). There was one way in an one way out and whoever it was would have to go through me. As I expected I saw a figure cowering behind one of the taller stacks of boxes.

"Hands up and I won't shoot you," I said.

Immediately both arms shot up.

"Listen and you live. Stand up and walk backwards to me. If I see your face, I'll shoot it off."

"You some sort of cop?" A male voice asked

"Shut the fuck up and do it."

He, whoever it was, stood up slowly, with his hands up the entire time. He turned his back to me. I saw that his head was bald under one of those snug hats that left a line in the skin on your forehead. I held the gun in one hand and slowly took out my baton with the other. He continued to back up, his pale neck coming clearer and clearer into focus, until I said, "Stop"

He did.

"Now on your knees."

He knelt and said, "You must be some sort of cop."

"It doesn't matter who I am," I said as I readied to strike him.

"Well, you must be some sort of government operative to know where I am."

After the whooshing noise that accompanies a quick movement, there was a crack, then a thud and boom as he landed chest first on the layer of steel beneath him.

I called Clara, "Get Jackson out of the main area of the bunker," I said.

"Why?"

"Let's just say we have a guest."

* * *

13:15

I carried him over my shoulders. He was shorter than me, thicker and older. His hair had grayed and thinned long ago, he looked like a man of about sixty. His agility, however told me that he was younger than that. There was something vaguely familiar about him. I had seen him once or a thousand times in the faces of those who were in this criminal underworld. They… we all seemed to look the same. There was no way to tell us apart, and for most there was no way to blend into the society, and I mean in the simplest way. Most could not walk down the street without the simplest of fools being able to tell that they were up to no good.

Such was the case with the man I had slumped over my left shoulder. He, even unconscious, looked as if he were ready to contravene passers-by or the law.

We took the elevator into the bunker. I watched the Chicago skyline pass for the millionth. The door opened and a very concerned Clara was standing at the threshold of the door.

"Why have you brought him here?" She started with a hushed scream. "You-know-who is upstairs."

"I know it's not ideal," I replied, "but where the hell was I supposed to bring this guy."

"I have a chair," she sighed, "and some rope."

"Thank you."

"I'm going upstairs to distract him for a bit.

I hauled him down the stairs and sat him in the chair. I tied him up. I never gagged anyone because you only tied them up because you needed them to talk. Most got the smart idea of screaming at the top of their lungs. Now, I waited for him to come to. I I used my temporary knockout technique. It usually only lasts about twenty minutes. There's a science to hitting people in the head, but there was no need to go into those details now. I looked him in the face now. I studied it. There was upon his features stress even in his incapacity.

"Ugh." He started to groan.

I moved closer to him. "Scream and you're dead."

"Huh… what's going-."

I repeated myself, "Scream and you're dead."

"There's no need for me to be afraid in my own bunker."

He took me by surprise, "What the fuck are you talking-"

"Those screens, the bedrooms, the atrium, these servers. I was here when they put them in. I have more information, do you still want to kill me."

"I'm still mulling it over. Tell me more and you might walk away."

"Aiden Pearce, you are not the first one to occupy this space"

"How do-"

"I am the one who controls the bridges. There are only three people with access to those bridges. You, me, and Clara. And soon enough your little nephew too."

I heard the door to the atrium. I looked up and saw that Clara was descending down the stairs. She must have seen the perturbed looked on my face and hustled down even faster. She walked, almost ran over to us. She saw his face and cringed.

" _Maudit._ Tobias Frewer," She said.

"Bingo," he said.

"So you know him, huh?" I asked.

"Yes," she said as she started to untie him, "DEDSEC must be his biggest client. He sells all sorts of things for cheap. Lures, jam coms, blackouts"

He chimed in, " IEDs and frag grenades, focus boosts." He rubbed his wrists as they she freed them. "Anyway, I was saying that I'm one the few who has made all of this possible."

"Why were you leaving those clothes?"

"We both know that the ctOS was the tool used to blow up your houses. In the beginning of his thing only two of us had access to the nitty-gritty. The two of us were the ones who worked on it the most. ctOS was designed to track criminals not average people. It was a way to watch them, to make sure that we could intervene if they wanted to commit crimes. There were others but, we were the one who did the work. Thousands of hours… thousands of hours stuck in this bunker. 2003, 2004, 2005 all came and gone before we were done. It was a perfect system. Uncrashable, unhackable perfection. Then they got the wise idea of firing us. We took our keys to the system with us. They thought that it was all done and that they did their job. When they finally deployed it in 2011 everything had become more sophisticated except for the security of ctOS. It only got bigger and started to gather info on all people. You, yourself used it to our advantage."

"Why were you leaving the clothes?" I asked him again. He was now completely free and decided to stand up and pace.

He continued his spiel, "Everyone was able to hack into it. You, DEDSEC, anyone who was smart enough could get in. Most of them, like yourself used it to their own advantage. You used it to get into the Merlaut. Whoever wanted it, got retribution, tried to kill you, killed your sister and niece instead. They realized that the target wasn't dead and they blew up your house. I know the story because I know how people use this system."

"Why did-" I started to ask a third time.

"I knew that you and Clara would end up together," she blushed, so my poker face meant nothing anymore, "I knew where BADBOY17 was and saw that the two of you were within a hundred feet. As a member of DEDSEC, Clara was always at my little shop buying something. When I heard about your houses blowing up, I knew that you would come to my little bunker. I knew that Johnson-"

"Jackson." I corrected him.

"I knew that he would be with you here. So I started to bring some supplies in. Box by box in the middle of the night, I would bring the supplies over. I knew that you would start to explore. You wouldn't spend any money in a store to buy kids clothes and have them tail you. Now." he was changing subject, "I'm going to give you access to the rest of the city." He made his way to the computer and the monitors.

"Why?"

He sat at the desk and started to type away."The way you're doing things, you're putting yourself at too much risk. Finish your mission. Find the bastards who did all of this and deal with them. Don't waste your time trying to get into the system. Take out your enemies and get out of this town." He got silent as the only sound that could be heard in the room was the tapping of keys. "Brace yourselves." He said after hitting what looked like a random set of keys. He hit [enter].

The lights went out. Jackson was in the atrium so he wouldn't notice. We stood in the dark. Five seconds, ten seconds, twenty passed.

"Come on baby," Tobias whispered, "Come on."

The buzz of all electricity stopped and the silence actually made my ears ring.

Then there were two computer chirps and the lights on the servers came back on. The room stayed dark for another fifteen seconds until the lights and monitor came back on.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I grabbed it looked at it and saw that there were several new apps on it. Moneygrab, ATMspew, What-do-u-do, and CAMview, just to name a few. I thought I could do all of these things before, but there was something different about it. I figured that I'd find out soon.

"You have access to every piece of ctOS, now," he said, "Use it wisely."

END PART TWO

* * *

Link0011 pointed out that Jackson's too mature. Trust me I have a reason for it. It'll be explained.

Actual 'missions' start in Part Three.

Review or send me a PM.

-Where'n'why


	12. III-1

JANUARY 8, 02:11

Tobias was long gone. He had done enough for me, for us. We were meandering and he put us on a straight path towards whatever the hell I was going to find out. My hope for him is that he can fade back into safe obscurity. As for me, I had a feeling that I was going to find myself in the limelight. There's no furtiveness in revenge, especially the kind of revenge I was after. It wasn't a dish best served cold in my opinion. I wanted whoever did this to lose days of sleep over Lena, a six year old girl and her mother. I haven't had a night where I could stay asleep for more than two hours before shooting up in a cold sweat.

It's better now. At least, now, when I wake up eyes wide and hyperventilating, there's someone in the bed with me to calm me down. Clara must hate it when I wake her up, disturbing what appears to be the untroubled sleep of an innocent. If she cannot help but hate it, she does not let it show. Or maybe she channels the hate into other things…

Whatever the case is, I have a dilemma on my hands? Where do I start. I have to work backwards to solve this one. First, who or what blew up my house and Clara's houses? Who sent that goon earlier that day, on Christmas day? What was he about? Who shot at us? Who ordered it? Who gave them the information? Too many questions to ponder think about.

All I knew for certain was that someone else must have known about what happened at the Merlaut in September, and that the person who knew is the only or one of a few. The news stations never picked up the story, or it was suppressed. Someone, and I think someone big, had something, something valuable to hide in the Merlaut. It's bigger than money, this whole thing. This is what woke me up tonight.

No dreams of screams, but some unsated urge to know how these events were related. I had wondered these things before, but in my fight or flight mentality that defined my time in this bunker logic and reason had not been what I would consider important.

Now, I stood in front of the monitor, looking into it's blankness. I took pains to leave the bed noiselessly and descend to the main area in silence. I knew that I had to start somewhere with this.

"But where?" I whispered into the dimly lit silence, swiveling my chair so that my back was to the monitors. "Where?" I looked out into the void and by definition it offered nothing. I spun around again, almost twirling like a child. I looked back at the screen when I had an idea.

I took my phone out of my pajama pocket. I looked at the apps on it. Maybe there was something I could use to…

Nothing.

I turned back to the monitor. I typed in J-A-I-L to see the arrests on Christmas, and as it did before, the screen turned a milky gray. Instead of showing names, it said 'ENTER PARAMETERS'

DATE. And I typed in the date in the format it required '12252012'.

DISTRICT. And I entered, 'PARKER SQUARE'

A list of names popped up, it was a short list. Parker Square was the safest district and too many people were in their homes for crimes to happen. I started to look at the names. As I moved to blinking cursor to the names and a mugshot accompanied the police report. On the fifth name on the list, I saw the brickthrower/doorkicker. Kelly Johnson, it said. 'Arrested for burglary, menacing. CLEARED- SUSPECT DECEASED."

"Deceased?" I asked out loud. He was young. He didn't have a heart attack, I mean, he couldn't have been older than twenty-five.

R I P, I typed in. The computer-generated death certificate popped up instantly:

PLACE OF DEATH: PALIN CORRECTIONAL CENTER

DATE OF DEATH: 12/26/12 00:00

MANNER OF DEATH: ACCIDENT

'ACCIDENT', bullshit. There's no such thing as an accident in a jail. I mean, he was arrested at 10:30 he was booked and sat in the precinct for many, let's say, five, six hours. Took an hour or two to transport him. So that means that he arrived at Palin between five or six o'clock. He was there for six, seven hours top. He was in a place where he is being watched all hours of the day. Arriving in the late afternoon/early evening, he would have been put right into a cell. No recreational time. He wouldn't have been in a group setting because they booked him. He would have been in a cell by himself between six and midnight. And there were no accidents to be had in a place where a guard checks, looking into the cell, every five, ten minutes tops.

Something's wrong with this whole scenario. A man goes to jail and he's dead five hours later. I have to get into that jail and hack those servers Surely there was something on those servers. Someone killed him in that jailed and covered it up. Inside job or not it's bigger than just a young guy dying in a jail. The news and all of those rights groups would have been on it like white on rice.

* * *

07:57

I had gone up to bed, slept, and risen again. I pondered over how to get into that jail as I stared at the blank screens. Any other time when I had broken the law, I scrambled what the ctOS system read about me. All it knew was that a Caucasian male, brown hair, about forty, was evading the system somehow, but there were dozens of wanted people who fit my description.

I snapped out of it when I heard the rhythmic clicks of Clara walking down the stairs. She spoke to the back of my head, "You were gone for almost an hour last night."

"Nothing is wrong," I lied and turned to face her.

She must have seen the brooding look on my face, "If nothing's wrong, then what are you thinking about?"

"I'm going to jail." I don't know why I spoke the vaguest, most mysterious sentence possible to tell her.

"What?"

"I woke up last night and came down here."

"I noticed when I turned over," she replied.

"I was trying of find the find the place to start with my investigation. I turned to the guy who threw that brick into the window on Christmas, Kelly Johnson." I said

"What about 'im?"

"He's dead."

"Dead?"

"Dead. The death certificate says that he had an accident in the jail. He was in Palin for less than twelve hours and turns up dead. It doesn't make sense."

"So you want to go to jail and find out?" She asked.

"Exactly"

"Can't we ha-"

"We can't do this remotely and risk it being traced back here. We're in enough trouble. We don't need anyone knowing where we are."

I heard Jackson coming down the stairs. Perfect window. "Jackson, come here. I need to ask you something." He sped up and came over. I had to be direct. "Remember on Christmas when that man came into our house? You said that he had a little brother. Remember?"

"Yeah, his name's Mark."

"What's Mark's last name?"

"Johnson. Mark Johnson and his brother was something with a 'K'.

"Kelly?"

"Yes, that's exactly what it is. Some of the fifth and sixth grade boys would pick on Mark at recess _every, single day_. One day, Mark got really fed up with it and said that he was going to Kelly to stop them. They only started to tease him worse. They called him…"

"What did they call him? Don't hold it in; just tell me."

"They called him a 'fag who needed his 'sister' to defend him'. All he would say to me is that he was going to kill himself. I just wanted to tell him to tell Mrs. Burnett, but he wouldn't."

 _What the fuck goes on in the schools_ , I thought to myself, _What do third, fourth, and fifth graders know about 'fags' and suicide. Even with the way I am now, I didn't learn about stuff like that until, I was almost in high school._ I asked him,"What happened?"

"I don't know. That was October 26th. They bullied him from the first day of school and he was really, really depressed."

* * *

13:01

Clara and I figured a way to get into the jail.

The building's strange shape and design work to my advantage. There were only two entrances, one in the front and back. I stood outside by the front door. I had a flashbang in my hand and my phone in the other. I wore a satchel on my back with a surprise in it when I got inside. I wore a mask over my face to obscure my nose and mouth, but not my eyes. I wore special gloves that worked on a touchscreen, but left no prints on anything that I put my hands on. I pulled the pin on the flashbang and dropped it. I walked into the front door casually, phone still in hand.

There was an irradient flash of light behind me, followed, in split second by the sounds of plate glass shattering and the almost musical crinkling of little shards it on the hard green marble floor. I took the backpack off of my shoulders as the sound stopped. The corrections officers, in their daze scarcely noticed that I was there. I pushed the pound key on the keypad and a thick torrent of black smoke started to rush out and hinder everybody's sight. Taking the chance, I sidled past all of the guards who were now running towards the smoke trying to 'calm' the situation and find the source of the explosion, many of them supposing that a gas line probably ruptured.

Now that there was no one in the front portion of the jail, I searched for a computer that could connect to the jail's server. I had to see what cell Kelly Johnson was in.

I found a computer, and, as all things automated in Chicago, it was connected to ctOS. I hacked into the it. It showed me that the Kelly Johnson was in Cell 357. He was placed in the cell at 18:06 and found unresponsive at 23:50 on Christmas. There were no cell mates.

"Fu-" I started, before something occurred to me. "Wait a second."

I checked if he received a visitor. Nope nothing.

" _Wait… maybe someone was let through the back door."_ I thought.

I checked the ctOS surveillance from Christmas at the back door. I started the playback in fast-forward mode. I went between six and midnight watching the timestamp at the bottom left.

There it was between 23:02 and 23:39 there was a gap.

"Who the fuck are you?" I heard a voice yell behind me. I looked up at the ceiling corner and noticed that there was a large, perfectly circular, slightly convex mirror. I looked into it and saw that he was only one the the guards in this jail and not a cop. I knew that I had to play mind tricks with this guy to crack him like weak code so I put my hands up, but I kept my phone in a fierce grip with the left. I watched as the door closed behind him with a bit of the smoke wafting into the room as it shut.

"You don't want to do this," I said, "If I push this button every one of these cell doors will open and it'll seem like you did it."

"What?" I heard the hesitation in his voice, "You can do that?"

"Yes, I can," I said, "By the sound of it, you're a corrections officer, no gun, no baton. Nothing. And what's worse, it'll seem like you let all of the prisoners out."

I lowered my hands and with the right, I reached for my gun. I turned around quickly and now he knew who was in charge. "It's fully loaded," I said, "there's already one in the chamber."

His hands went up in a defensive posture. For what seemed like the hundredth time, I was holding someone hostage pointing a gun at their heads. I needed a new modus operandi. Theory and praxis were night and day.

I spoke again, "Now, that we're here, I'm going to ask you a few questions. What happened to Kelly Johnson?"

"I don't know what you're talking about?" He was lying and he had a tell. He blinked twice when he fibbed.

"Don't you fucking lie to me!" I said gruffly, bringing my finger closer to the trigger.

"Fine, fuck, at a little after eleven, I was told to remove him from the cell. I was just following orders. I didn't know they were going to take your brother."

' _Johnson must have said that his brother was going to get them. Guess they didn't know that the brother was eight.'_ I thought. "What happened to Kelly after that?"

"I took him to the back of the jail, the warden was there- said he was being extradited to Dupage County, out in Wheaton, warden must have believed it cuz there was a van there. It looked official, but something wasn't right to me."

"What?"

"The ctOS said that the van was supposed to be there, but other towns always send a fax and more info. This time we didn't get nothing. ctOS always makes sure that a fax comes through. It's as if someone changed it or hacked or or something."

* * *

13:39

I left the same way I came. Through the smoke that was still billowing through the entire front of the place. No one seemed to noticed as I walked past dozens of emergency vehicles.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

*CRIME DETECTED* It said on the top edge of my phone screen. Below that there was a map that showed an arrow icon in a blue circle with the blocks that surrounded me in tinged in blue. I walked toward the alley that was in the center of the highlighted circle. As I approached I heard whispers and soften my footsteps. There was a dumpster that was flush against one of the walls. I crouched behind it and started to listen. My phone was in showed the names of the two people. It also showed to yellow bars. One read, "Potential Victim of Crime" and the other "Potential Criminal" under both words was a bar that increased with a number, a percentage, that grew as the conversation grew louder. When the bars reached seventy percent, I took out my retractable baton. At eighty, I readied myself and intervened.

I stepped out from behind the dumpster and hit the potential victim over the head. There was a twack and crunch upon impact with the mop of dirty blond hair and whoosh and thud as an unconscious body hit the cracked concrete of the alley. A millisecond later, the sound of a gun, a handgun, hitting the hard ground reverberated through the passage between the buildings.

My phone buzzed in my opposite hand, 'CRIME NEUTRALIZED', and I put the baton away.

Then, my attention turned to the victim, or would be victim, who now stood cowering, back against the bricks. It was a woman, short, maybe 5' 2", 5' 3". Her skin was gray, and so was her hair, but something about her suggested that she was not as old as she looked. There were wrinkles, but they were not as deep as the silveriness of her thinning hair. She was dressed as well as any street person in a cold, northern city, wearing everything imaginable and then some. That same cold that made me wear a mask did modify the stench of months' worth of sweat and other excretions. I looked at her again, Besides the deathly dun of her face, hers eyes showed no vitality. The soul had long left this body, and the physical part of her existence looked just as bleak.

Here hands were raised in what resembled a person worshiping in church, but in reality, defense. "Don't hurt me," she said.

"I just knocked out the guy who was going to kill you. I'm not going to hurt you." I said. She put her arms down in recognition of that fact.

"Well, people don't just go around saving people for nothing. You must want something in return," and before I got a chance to say anything, she dropped to her knees, and hesitant hands were reaching for the zipper on pants.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I almost shrieked, "Get up, I don't want that." I was very adamant in grabbing her by the armpits and lifting her up.

"You must want something!" She screamed at me unbelieving.

"I don't want to take a trip to the clinic, and I don't want anything that I can't get rid of."

"I'm clean! You must want something!" She was certain that I wanted something in return.

"I want you to go and get clean. Stop smoking, or smoking, or injecting. And I _don't_ want you telling anyone about this." I was starting to make my way out of the alley and back to the street.

She pursued, "What? You some sort of cop?"

"Do you see a badge?" I asked wryly.

"You some sort of Vigilante, then?" She said, following.

"Whatever." I walked swiftly away.

* * *

Review or PM me.

-Where'n'why


	13. III-2

I've been very busy lately, so forgive the delay. The chapters will come out with more regularity starting by the end of next month.

* * *

JANUARY 9, 2013, 01:47

Kelly Johnson, in his absence, had me up again at this ridiculous hour on a Wednesday.

Something's telling me that he's not dead. Grown men don't just disappear, they leave or they're taken, and they never go without a trace. I sat in the dark, again, thinking, pensive over how this was going to end. Who was the source of this whole web of lies and death. Luck was not on my side, and it had not been since this whole thing began. Before that, the wind was at may back and the pathway was lighted.

Now, I grope around in the dark, stumbling, never finding anything that could help me steady myself, hoping that I don't crack my head open on the concrete.

I still don't know what possessed me, but I suppose the next thing I did had to happen at some point. I got dressed in the dark, in silence. I suppose that every person in my line of work learned at some point that the dark was not a time of abstraction. In the night, 'good' and 'evil' are true opposites in real terms. Both of them are easiest to spot when there are only city lights and the shadows. The occurrence of either makes no qualms, and don't hesitate.

I walked out of the bunker, careful to make the least noise possible. I typed a quick note into the main computer in case anyone woke up and wondered where I was. I got into my car and drove. My phone was guiding me to my destination. I found myself lost in my thoughts, but attentive enough not to veer. I second guessed why I could possible be headed to this place. But the part of me that was making me go was persistent. I still did not know what exactly I wanted to see or do.

I was in familiar territory again, Parker Square. Even with the street lights, this neighborhood was dark, everyone was asleep and not a single light was on in one of these houses. I kept driving, past the two empty lots that used to be our houses.

"Your destination is on the left," my phone said. I looked at the house to my left and it looked like all of the others, except there was one light on, down on the first floor where the living room would be. The curtain was thin, and I could see a silhouette pacing back and forth. It was the figure of a woman, walking like a sentry.

I still don't know what was making me act, but by this point, I figured that I shouldn't fight it.

I stepped out of the car. There was a breeze that I had ignored, that now took my breath away. The wind bit my face and sent millions of needles pricking into my flesh. This was the kind of cold that made this place Chicago, the kind of cold that portended snow. I walked the five or so yards to the front door. In the very short walk I found myself captivated with the soft light that came through the window, and the restless woman.

As I approached, the door swung open wildly. The woman who was pacing was standing in the door. Before I could make out any features or even determine what she was wearing, I felt her beside me dragging me. She said in a hushed tone, "Get in here before anybody sees you."

I blinked and I was inside of this house. First the woman who had grabbed me: She was shorter than me. Freckles and dimples, red hair, cheap dye, the strands were kind of short and thinning and did not even reach down to the shoulders. Her features were pressed onto hard lines, stress lines. I looked at the features and pictured Kelly Johnson's face in my head. The features were definitely similar and the expressions of anger were identical.

"What do you mean coming here like this?" she asked, still whispering, although the door was closed and locked. "Just leave, get out."

"You're the one who brought me in, " I reminded her. "I don't even know why I came here," and I started towards the door.

"Look," she ran around me to block me from leaving, "we're both in the same situation were looking for answers." She was speaking quickly, as if someone with a stopwatch and a gun pointed to her head only allowed her a few seconds to speak at a time. The words were quick, but thought out and purposeful. "When I saw your story on the news, I knew that the families were involved."

"Who are you?" I asked

"I'll tell you at the end of my story. Don't interrupt me," her speech quickened even more, "Shit, shit, shit. I'm freaking out. You weren't followed. Make sure no one tailed you. No one."

"Calm down," I said, paying particular attention to the vein that was now sticking out on her pale forehead.

"Fine," she exhaled. "That 'accident'," she did the air quotes. "It was the same scenario as every single 'Club' hit I ever heard of. Get 'em in the tunnel. After '97, he got the idea from Princess Diana, that was the way Quinn got all the people he wanted to take down."

"How do you know-"

"I told Kelly that there was no need to get involved in that kind of life." That was the proof that this was his mother. "He didn't finish high school and he got into the wrong crowd. We were still close, though,a wistful smile crossed her face. "He told me everything. He trusted me that much. Then last September, he told me that Quinn, Lucky Quinn himself called Kelly into his office in the Merlaut. They had traced whoever broke into the hotel and Quinn wanted him dead. He put out a hit on you and Quinn wanted Kelly to do it."

"Then what?" I asked.

"He accepted the job and said that he would do away from you and the other one, uh, Daniel…"

"Damien." I corrected.

"Yup, that's the one. But, Kelly couldn't find Damien, so he figured that he would try to get to you. So he started to plan out how he would get you. He saw that you always drove your niece and nephew through the Pawnee tunnel. Any other time, he couldn't get to you. He thought like me, we have the same blood, and I raised him with a conscience. He knew that you, and _only_ you were the target."

"What did he do?" I only now realized that we were still standing, and ignored the fact. I was riveted by the fact that my botched murder attempt was being explained and that a career criminal told his mother of his sins.

"He went back to Lucky and said that he would have to find a way to lure you out into the open and that he couldn't risk killing you in that tunnel. He knew that the kids would either be hit by whatever bullets would go flying, or they would be witnesses. He said that he couldn't but little kids in that sort of danger. Quinn only said that whatever it takes, he wanted the men who stole from him dead. He said that targeting the family was just plucking weeds. Kelly said that he refused to do and walked out."

"That was a death sentence, walking out on a boss like that."

"Kelly didn't know, or he didn't care. Only God knows. I remember that he was shocked when he got another job in December to find whoever that BADBOY person was. But when he got arrested I think they took him in the middle of the night. And I haven't seen him since."

"They did take him, in the middle of the night, I saw the tape. And I don't know where he is." The next words I said made me sound like a cop, "Is there anything about the 'Club' that people don't know about. Are there any other types of activities that they do besides selling drugs."

"There's rumors that they sell… Oh my God… they can't do that to Kelly… they can't." She trailed off in horror.

"What?" I was perturbed to say the least.

"K-Kelly was telling me that they traffic all sorts of things."

"Humans?" I asked her.

Her eyes were red with tears as she nodded the affirmative. In the distance, I heard a siren outside. It grew louder as it got closer and faded as it passes. I focused again on the woman, who was now in hysterics.

"What about your other son? Mark?"

"He's freaking out. They've been bullying him and…" she trailed off.

"Do you have any suitcases?"

"Yeah… why?"

"You need to get out of Chicago." I said. "Knowing what you know, you're at risk."

"But they don't know that I know as much as I know."

"Well, know this," I said, "If Lucky Quinn is willing to send out your son to kill some kids, I think, he'll kill you too..." I realized that I had not gotten her name.

"Chelsea, my name is Chelsea."

That being enough for her, she got three suitcases and started to hastily pack clothes, and essentials for the both of them. We agreed that we'd let Mark sleep one more night in a normal life before be uprooted on a random Wednesday. I sat in the living room for hours, waiting for her to be done.

* * *

05:00

She came out of the bathroom a blond with long hair. The wig was of a good enough quality to fool most.

Chelsea walked into Mark's room and I exhaled in a mixture of hatred and disappointment that two innocents were being affected by the Chicago South Club, which, ironically, back in the day, had a policy that the family was off limits. You killed your target and only your target. The wife, the mother, the sister, the children were to be left alone. Seems like now anything goes. I kept watch of the window. There were still two whole hours before the the sunrise, and I knew that if anybody was watching, they was piecing together that something was going wrong. I had the wherewithal and sense to computerize my car. No one got near it with me knowing it. I knew my car was safe and unhackable, and I knew that I had to give it up. If they were going to be safe, the car was going to have to go… with them.

* * *

05:45

Mark was awake and dressed and eerily looked relieved. I did not know exactly what his mother told him, but I supposed that he was satisfied to get as far away from his bullies as possible. There were stress lines and bags under his eyes, the kind that I knew resulted from daily strain and anxiety. His hair was cut short and was brown, though there were a few defiant strands of red. The visage was was and mirror of his mother's and I saw how this whole situation had vexed them.

She fed him a big breakfast and offered me some. I refused and insisted that she eat. She did after persistence.

We all walked to the car. I carried the bags to the car, put them down and took the keys out of my pocket. I opened the trunk and the bags fit in easily.

I gave her the keys. She looked at me, question in her eyes.

"Are you sure?" Chelsea verbalized it as she put Mark in the back seat and shut the door.

"You need to get as far from here as you can. Once you start driving don't stop until you need gas. Don't use your credit cards. There's five thousand dollars in the glove compartment. It takes regular gas. The tank is full. Just drive. When you need to talk to me just dial 1 on your phone. If you need money. Call me and put your debit card in any ATM and it'll spit out as much money as you need."

"What?" she asked.

"Just get in the car and drive."

She got in the driver seat and drove off. I watched the taillights disappear in the dark. I don't know why, but it made me smile.

* * *

06:53

Clara was awake when I got back in.

"Where's Jackson?"

"I just checked him, he's still asleep." She walked towards me. "Where were you?" It sounded like I was getting questioned, which explained why she was awake and why her arms were folded.

"I went out to Kelly Johnson's mother."

"Oh?"

"She knew too much, so…"

"You killed her?" She gasped.

"NO… God, no! I got her out of town and the kid too."

"Oh," she softened, "Well next time tell someone when you're going to leave."

"Alright, but now I need your help."

"What's wrong?"

I started, "It sounds like the Chicago South Club's dealings don't end with drugs. She said that they traffic humans too. I know that I have a mission to avenge Lena and Nicky, but that will have to wait. I can't allow people to be sold. Lord only knows that they might be selling children too."

"So what exactly do you want to do?"

"Hacking these assholes isn't enough."

"You want to go?!" She asked in a hushed, but panicked voice.

"I have to. Get those perverts arrested. If you want to buy people in the 21st Century, they need to go to jail, get a taste of their own medicine."

"You can't just go." She replied, "You have to be invited. They have to know and trust that you're not a fed, or some idiot who will get them busted."

"So, I have to steal somebody's identity. The next 'auction' is on the 12th at 11 PM, I hacked in and found out. Apparently, they do them on Saturdays so that Sunday can be a 'happy day'. Then you can chain them up and go to work on Monday. Fuckin' sickos."

She walked over to the computer and started to hack the check in list. With a few keystrokes she was in. The list was in alphabetical order. Apparently, the Club liked to keep neat and orderly files on all of its customers. There were not only names, but addresses and physical descriptions. Clara used a search tool to narrow down the parameters. She removed the females. And then the non-whites. Then she looked to see if anyone fit my profile.

"Ah," she found someone, "Crispin, Nicholas, expatiated twelve years ago. This will be his first time going to the auction. Forty-one years old same height. Interested in buying both sexes. Reputation for- Mon Dieu- killing them and drinking their blood and getting it on with dead bodies."

"Jesus Christ," I exclaimed, not really being able to control myself, "I'll be doing the world a service taking him out, and taking this operation down."

"You're going to kill him?" She asked with a meek French-Canadian voice

"He serves no purpose."

"It's just…"

"He wouldn't think twice about harming you or Jackson or anyone." I stated.

"We have to be better than him."

"You can't reason with... with crazy. You look it up or you snuff it out. And I ain't a cop."

"It's your call." She was washing her hands of the whole thing.

"When does he come in?"

"Tomorrow night, late. Looks as if Lucky Quinn has arranged for him to get a car in The Loop. Then he's going to- to Infinite 92."

"What's that?" I had a feeling that it was going to be something strange.

"It's a gentlemen's fetish club owned by the Club."

"Probably in some back alley, filled with cops, politicians, teachers, preachers, all sorts of people who are supposed to be above that."

"Oui, right in an alley. Crispin's invitation is supposed to come with a 'gift'."

"Gift?" I huffed disgustedly.

"Just save as many as you can."

* * *

11:38

Jackson taking his French lesson at the moment. I took the opportunity to look in his room. My intention was not to snoop, but to really see what his room was like. I knew that he chose it for the view, and it did have a great one. But, it was by no means a spacious place, and there was nothing special to behold. A bed with a old, but untarnished and unrusted metal frame. There was a wooden desk in the room that had a few drawers on the left side and left just enough room to have a smaller person and a chair pushed in. There was a desk lamp that like a big door hinge could be angled to place the light anywhere.

From the top drawer, I saw a paper hanging from the opening. I opened it wider so that I could put the paper in. I looked and saw what most have been hundreds of papers stacked, with words neatly printed on both sides. At first I figured that this was French homework, but looking closer, I saw that the words were in English. I picked up a page and started to read.

 _I miss outside. I hate the winter, but now I would kill to feel the cold wind and to see my breath. But bad things happen outside. I know that I have to go outside again, but when I do, I want to get out of Chicago. I want to go somewhere where it's warm all the time, like Mom used to say._

I stopped on that page and grabbed another:

 _Why didn't I tell Dad about the dreams? I thought that it was just a dream. I saw us rolling over, and saw Mom not breathing, Lena not breathing either._

I couldn't read anymore. I didn't know that he was in this much turmoil, inasmuch I selfishly pursued vengeance or he didn't let it show? I thought that he actually listened when I told him to let what he was feeling out. Maybe he was letting it out like this? Maybe he felt that he couldn't cry in front of us? Maybe he cried at night? Were there traces of salt on the papers? What dreams? Before or after the crash? What does he know?

I put the papers back as I found them. I slipped out of the room, sure that no one had seen me. My head ached in uncertainty, unease, and dismay.

* * *

Review or PM me.


	14. III-3

Sorry for the delay, but AP tests (I may _never_ discuss the questions with anyone, or my scores may be canceled lol), Finals, Prom, and graduation next week. all that stuff is really time consuming when you're a senior. I haven't been ignoring anyone, it's just that all that stuff steals free time.

* * *

JANUARY 11, 19:51, LOOP LUXURY CARS

I found him. The intelligence was right. He flew in from Europe. I sat in my car across the street and used my phone to peer into the showroom. It was an easy hack, with the access to the ctOS. There he was, same height and not too dissimilar in appearance from me.

He was surrounded by an entourage of about seven, eight big, muscular types. I wondered then, if they knew, if any of them knew about the stuff he was into. If they knew and still decided to work for him, it meant that they would be loyal to him. If they were just paid muscle, it could go either way. No matter what field, there were always those who were committed to the job.

The ones with common sense would always walk off (or in this case: hide, or run away). There were always the dumb ones who couldn't piece together what the problem was (me with a gun) even when it was manifest, the same way a deer balks in front of a car zooming towards it. By the time the idiot gets the fact that it's time to act, I've blasted him away.

Such looked like the case tonight. Crispin had to die so I could take this whole ring down. The sacrifice of one scumbag to take the some more down, seems like a good deal.

I readied myself. My pistol was loaded, and so was the AK. This would have to be quick and efficient. I put my phone on Jam-com mode, and with that about a three block radius was in the 'dark'. No phone or internet, you get the picture. It was not that late, but the street was clear of traffic and there were no pedestrians to be seen. I walked across the street with my AK out in the open. I got on the same side of the street.

As I said before, I needed to take the efficient approach, so I simply shot through the window. I made sure that I was out of the way of the shower of glass that rained into the dealership. Before they could even react, I shot a few of the goons right then, And as the sounds of the shots faded in the large space, three thuds resounded. The five others had, by now, had opportunity to unholster their weapons. I kept my eyes on Crispin and saw that he was cowering behind a car.

The car dealer had the sense to take the keys and run to the back office. I covered behind car, on the driver's side by the headlights and saw how one of the guards tried to follow me around it. I put a bullet through his head and he fell back, his skull making a crunch on the marble floors. Then I, lifted my head, and saw that Crispin was also shooting towards me.

"Boss, keep your head down. Let us take care of this-"

Unfortunately for him, my bullet going through his chest interrupted him.

"Shit, shit, shit." I heard someone scream from the vicinity of where Crispin was hiding. My angle was perfect for this. The car was oblique to the other windows and allowed me to see the whole room. Another one of the entourage emerged. I focused on him, and it seemed that time slowed down. I was able to hit him in the neck, right in the jugular. The blood came out in rhythmic reds spurts followed immediately by splashes. There was a gurgling, choking noise that the felled man was making that was getting on my nerves, but that stopped after a while.

Another one of the idiots tried to run out towards me. He ran across the pool of blood that had now formed on the floor. I almost felt bad for him as he slipped on the redness and, arms flailing, went face first into the floor. In fact, I felt so bad for him that I put him out of his misery right then, his blood mixing and adding to that of other dearly departed fellow.

There were only two more of the guards, before I could get to Crispin. The other two guards were still in their hiding places. I sidled from behind my car, and waited to see if they were going to move. One of them did, running toward where they still thought I was.

I shot him before he even got the chance to get a third of the way to where he wanted to go.

"You're on your own." I heard a voice say quietly. I heard a gun hit the floor. "I got a family," the voice said out loud towards me. I got my hands up and instantly, the last goon was standing, hands up in a defensive posture. He was backing out of the showroom and I was going to let him go, when I heard about three shots in quick succession and the man hit the floor.

"No one abandons me, bitch."

"Come out, Crispin and maybe I'll let you live," I said reloading.

"You're the only one dying tonight." Shit, only now did I realize that he sounded a lot like me.

"I actually have something to live for," I said, "What are you? Just a sad little pervert who only came home to buy some women and men to use them and kill them."

"Shut up," he shouted. I could tell that I was getting under his skin.

"What would your mother think?"

"Shut up!" He shouted again.

"You're just Daddy's disappointment." I did my research on him

"Aah," I heard followed by footsteps coming closer rushing to me. He had the good sense to avoid the puddle of blood. I shot him in the arm, and the gun fell from his hands. I shot him the left leg and he fell into the puddle, now a pool, a lake of blood.

I walked towards him as he writhed and tried to get back towards his gun. Careful not to get my boot wet with the red stuff, I kicked it away from him.

"You motherfucker," he said as I looked down at him. He looked so weak down there and it must have killed him, so to speak, to be in a position of weakness. He spoke again, "You're gonna pay for-"

I interrupted him, "Just fucking die." I said before putting a bullet through his head.

* * *

INFINITE 92, 21:34

This place was in a back alley just as I thought it would be. This kind of place couldn't be out in broad daylight. When people were into this kind of sick shit, the fantasy, the visual was never enough. It was an intractable addiction for the sickos who wanted this. They needed the physical act and a place in plain daylight could not accommodate that so the people were in the literal shadows. They crept around the deep web too, using special browsers to trade their wares.

Ironically, the illegality and shadiness of places like this made them all the more safe. These people established protocols to keep them safe from diseases and getting busted, for that matter. It was invite only, there was always collateral.

I, now Nicholas Crispin was a special guest, a VIP. I had money to spend at the auction and could help this operation spread into Europe. The Euro was stronger than than the US Dollar and I am certain that Quinn would want to diversify the money he's putting into his coffers.

I walked down the steps into the somewhat obscured doors of the club. The doors opened and I walked into a lobby area. There was a man in this lobby area standing behind a podium. He didn't look particularly creepy, but again the people in these clubs look like regulars.

"You must be Mister Crispin."

"Am I that recognizable?" I joked, the intelligence said that Crispin was very congenial and pleasant.

"Yes, especially when my boss gives me a picture this big." He held up an 8½ by 11 with 'my' picture printed in full color on it. "He gave this to picture to me, and he wanted me to give you-," he looked down at the podium again, and rummaged through a few papers. He found the paper he was looking for, "He wanted me to give you this."

He handed the paper to me, and in very neat writing:

 _Mr. Crispin,_

 _I'm glad that you've come back to the states and I hope that we can get into business together. I only have a few ground rules._

 _1\. I know what you're in to, and frankly I don't care, but do not jeopardize my (and probably soon), our enterprise by indulging in your appetites while you are in Chicago or in the United States. Once you get back to Europe, you may do whatever you please with your property._

 _2\. I have arranged a special gift for you. She's a special gift, so feel free to request her at the VIP auction tonight at midnight, just as we stipulated. She, as are all the others, is available for sale._

 _3\. We will only talk terms face to face or through encrypted means. No telephones, or physical proof._

 _-Lucky, your future business partner_

There was where the info was wrong, my auction wasn't tomorrow, but tonight. I lifted my eyes of the page.

"Where's my gift?" I asked, forcing a smile.

"Ah," he said, grinning back, "Follow me."

I followed him and walked through the crowd. There were about an equal number of men and women in the crowd and several strippers walking around in leather gear. There was a bar on the far side of the place and I, in this situation of discomfiture and distress, wanted to get a drink. The pressing need to remain alert, and the unsettling premonition that there were probably a freakish amount of bodily fluids and hairs in the drinks coming from the near nude bartender (a woman, tits out) gave me pause. Can anyone spell hepatitis?

I followed him to the back of this place, the music blaring so loud that it not only obscured my ability to hear, but also affected my balance and rattled my vision.

"Your present is back there, and it's a real treat."

I opened the door and the sudden loudness shuddered the relative serenity of the room. The sick silence, with the exception of the pulsating, incessant hum and rattle of the distant bass speakers, was restored as the door slammed shut behind me. It jarred whoever that figure that I looked upon her, and I too convulsed and wretched. Silently, I approached her, and my eyes began to adjust to the darkness of the room. In fact, the room was not all that dark, but much to my surprise, the pervs did not conduct their business in the darkness, rather they wanted to see, in gross detail, their fantasies.

I looked upon her now. She was a black woman, hair cut short. She was pretty, and she would have looked fine without the ubiquitous makeup. She wore a nose ring that was chained with loose silver bands to her earrings.

She was lying on the table. I got even closer to her and was about to speak.

She lunged at me, grabbing a knife from behind her back. Her strength was impressive, most like being derived from a sheer will to live. I grabbed her by the forearms as her lichen knife swiped very close to my face.

"I'm not your enemy," I said.

"I heard about what you do to women! I'm not gonna let you do it to me!" She shouted.

"I am not going to hurt you and that's the truth," I said, as she tried to move the knife towards my chest.

"You're a fucking killer, you rape and kill and you sure as hell ain't gonna kill me! I've seen scum, but you must be the worst, I've seen." The blade came dangerously close to my neck, near my jugular vein.

"Look," I reasoned, as I struggled against this woman's will to live, "I already killed Crispin, he's lying in a pool of blood in a car dealership."

"You're not Crispin?" She asked, still trying to overpower me, even though I could feel her starting to tire.

"No, my name is Aiden Pearce and I am only a killer because I killed him."

She dropped the knife. It made the loudest tinkling on the floor. I knew that it could not be heard outside over the music, but it gave me pause. Maybe the fact that the immediate threat to my life was over heightened the senses.

"I'm taking this whole thing down tonight." I said after the silence.

"Are you-"

"I'm not a cop." I replied preemptively.

"I've seen your face before." Her eyes squinted the way it does when people searching, scouring their memory. It didn't have enough time to click.

"Look," I started, "There's not much time, I'm going to this auction, and I'm going to get you out of there okay. Don't argue. I'm going to request one last look before I 'buy' you, okay."

"Okay."

"It'll work out."

* * *

BRANDON DOCKS, 23:40

I arrived at the location of the auction. It was truly in the the docks, hidden in a warehouse surrounded by a sea of shipping containers. I stepped out of the car and walked to the front door. It was bitterly cold and a few snowflakes were starting to fall and I hustled to get inside. Immediately, as the door closed behind me, I was presented with a woman behind yet another podium.

"Can I have your firearms please?"

I was in the process of taking them off of my person, when Lucky Quinn came out of a room that attached to the long corridor of this warehouse. He walked towards me and the woman, who the ctOS through my phone told me was only twenty-four, stopped in her tracks.

"Shana, this is Mister Crispin," he said gently, his cane making rhythmic taps with the floor as he approached.

"Oh my God, Mister. Mister... Crispin, I'm sorry… I didn't realize-" She was genuinely embarrassed and was blushing. She now only looked down at the floor as if the concrete would offer her some commiseration. It did not.

"No harm, no foul," I said trying to comfort her, ignoring the fact that she was a fucking piece of shit who was complicit in the modern slave trade. If you wanted to be involved in the rape of children, but I would leave the vengeance to someone or something else. I could not let my mind's execration compromise the mission now. I turned my attention to the old man, who moved quickly with his cane, "Mr. Quinn, nice to finally meet you." I took his hand and shook it firmly.

"Why are you calling me Mr. Quinn, when all this time you've called me Lucky?" He asked with quasi-suspicion.

"When I do business, it's _serious_ business." I said.

"I like your answer Mr. Crispin. I think we'll get along very well."

I breathed a sigh of relief, internally, as we started to walk toward the corridor.

"Anyway," he continued, "I know that you were interested in some of the _alternative_ products. I haven't really changed my stock to have males, but I might."

"You should," I started, "The scenes I want to cater to in Berlin, Brussels, and Budapest want boys."

"Really?" He asked in actual curiosity.

"Yes, In those markets, it seems that the share between traditional stock and other stock is fifty-fifty."

"But the men are harder and costlier to find and subdue." He countered, thinking like a businessman.

"That's why they fetch a higher price, sometimes forty, fifty percent more, and you double your customer base. Consider the possibilities," I said, wondering how the hell I was authoring these thoughts and expressing them without cracking.

"I will, but first-" he turned into a different room and I followed him in.

The room was like a small county jail. Three of the walls were bare, gray cinder blocks. The fourth wall, opposite of the door which we entered, had a toilet and a sink. About five feet in front of this wall were think, one-inch bars that were less than two inches apart. Quinn went to the wall to my right and turned on the switch. The lights came on and now the room was fully illuminated.

In the cell, Poppy was standing next to the bars and looked out to me. She could scarcely hide her thankfulness for my presence, but her abhorrence of the sight and sound of Quinn's crooked old carcass balanced out to her face to subtle, reticent smirk. Quinn may have thought it was a look of dread on her face. I gave her a reassuring smile, knowing that Quinn could not see me face. She gave a quick nod, that again, Quinn would interpret as a fearful shudder.

I turned my attention to the other person in the cell. I looked at him and recognized the face immediately.

It was Kelly Johnson.

He looked back at me with hate in his eyes.

"How is that for a product?" Quinn asked, still standing by the light switch.

"He," I turned to face Quinn, "He will do _nicely_." My stomach did a backflip.

"How 'bout I give you a minute or two with them and we'll talk terms. I nodded in agreement and watched him walk out and close the door.

I turned swiftly around and whispered to them. Poppy came close to the bars and listened.

"Where is the device they use to track you?" I asked.

"This tattoo," she turned. I put my phone up to the bars and pushed a few buttons. The flash went off as if I took a picture.

"I scrambled it," I said

"That's it?" She was astounded. I nodded in the affirmative

"Kelly, get over here."

"How the hell do you know my-." I could tell everything by the look on his face. First is was shock that I knew his name, then an investigatory squint that that he recognized who I was. "I broke into your-"

"Just listen," I interjected, loud enough for them to hear outside, before whispering, "I'm going to buy you to get you out of here, but we're going to come back in and go through the back to shut this thing down. I can't do this by myself. I'm going to have to trust you and you are going to have to trust me."

"I do." He said and I believed him.

I walked over to the door and knocked. Quinn came back in.

"Let's talk price. Fifteen for the both of them."

"No," he said gently, "we've got to get more than than. Twenty-two."

"Seventeen-five"

"I'll come down," I could tell that he was enjoying the cat and mouse. He liked the risky bids I made. "Twenty"

"Eighteen." I said.

"Nineteen," he countered

"Deal." I said, and we shook on it. "Just handcuff 'em and I think that will be just fine."

"Fair enough," he agreed.

"I just sent the money to you." I did send him the money through my phone to keep up the appearance of partnership.

His phone buzzed and he took it out of his pocket to see that the deposit was made to his account.

* * *

FIFTEEN HUNDRED FEET AWAY FROM THE WAREHOUSE, 00:58

I uncuffed them the second we were a suitable distance away.

Said Poppy, "I have to go back, my friends are in there."

I replied, "You can't. I swear that they'll be safe soon. Besides if you go back in there you only put the others at risk. Quinn, that motherfucker, doesn't know that the real Crispin is in a morgue."

"You're right," Kelly said, "But what's the plan to take them out?"

"Here's how I see it. I think that we go in through the back, surprise them. All the guards will run to us. All the people inside will be trapped. In fact they might lock all of them in while Quinn gets away."

"We can't let him get away, he's the ringleader," Kelly said, the hate dripping from the words, "He's the source of all of this shit."

"I know that." I said

"Then how the fuck are you going to let that guy walk?"

"I have to take down the _whole_ operation. This is only one of the rackets. I want this club to go down and it takes more than just a single source of income falling for a sophisticated organization like this. I don't want him to walk, but he has to tonight."

"Fine, but don't you punk out when it's time to kill him."

"I won't. So," I changed the subject back to the pressing matter, "I say we run in the back and do a shock and awe."

"Fine"

We left Poppy in after she assured us that she was the one who wanted to call 911. She wanted to say and watch, at least from a distance, to make sure that her 'friends' were safe. She said that she had ways of connecting with them again. I hoped she was right.

We walked to the back of the warehouse.

This place would be heavily 'staffed' to say the least.

I had my ATSG-12 and I let him use my U100. This was going to be a violent, if not the most violent fight I'd ever had. I was only slightly assuaged by Kelly's presence. He was a hot head. He took the loud, dumb approach to things, like throwing a rock through a window to find 'BADBOY17'. He may have mastered the art of stealth and quiet, but I could not be sure that he would keep a constant cool under this pressure. It was one thing to master stealth and another thing entirely to even have a grasp of how to remain calm.

"You ready?" I asked him.

"Can you ever be ready for this?" He asked.

"No." I kicked down the door and it partially fell off of its hinges.

The place was eerily silent. The door being kicked in should have alerted someone. There was no sign that anyone had noticed, so we proceeded further into the place. The hallway we were in was dark and the cold wind started to bring some of the snowflakes in. We continued slowly down the corridor and approached a corner, making the hall make a ninety degree turn to the left. The corner was lit by a single incandescent that hung off the ceiling by one wire.

Cautiously we approached the corner. I approached it first, and peeked my head around the wall.

"Clear," I said, when I brought my head back around.

We resumed the silent march and there was still nothing remarkable. The floors were dry and clean, and but for the dim of the hallway, I assumed that the walls were too. I was surprised to see the back of this place, which looked seldom used or even walked in was immaculate. People call pervs dirty, but it seemed that they, or at the very least, those who provided their wants, were only surrounded by the utmost in cleanliness.

We reached another turn, this time to the right, and he was the one to look out into the void. We both heard that there were voices nearby, and more than two, maybe five or six. He rested his body against the wall and crooked his head, almost wrapping his neck around the corner. He retracted it quickly.

"Ready for some fun," he whispered, not really expecting an answer.

He walked around the corner and emptied half of the clip in what appeared from my vantage to be a random and careless spray of bullets. I was sure that if no one survived whatever he just did, they were on to us.

He gestured for me to come from behind the wall.

What he left behind was incredible. There were about half a dozen goons bleeding out in front of yet another corner, about fifteen, twenty feet away, in this maze of a building. The way it was situated, only the people in the hallway could hear I had to eat my words, because the amount of bullets he used was lower than expected for so many targets. Now, however, he would have to be more careful, for the advantage of shock was lost. I took the lead in and walked front of him.

"What the fuck was that?" I heard a startled but tough-sounding voice ask in the distance. I heard footsteps coming closer, reverberating in the empty hall. There was still a considerable distance between us and the approacher, as I watched the beam of a flashlight hit the bodies. "Holy shit! What the fuck?," the voice asked seemingly to the dead bodies.

I readied my weapon as I expected him to round the corner. When he did not come around, and the footsteps became hurried and distant I could only assume one thing: he was getting backup.

"Looks like the party's really about to start," I said.

Without missing a beat, what sounded like an army, started to run towards us. We both reloaded, readied and steadied for the ambush. There were two conveniently placed stacks of sandbags. I chose the one on the left while he went to the one on the right.

"This is going to get really hairy," I said.

"There they are!" One of the thugs shouted. A wave of muscle came our way.

"Imma fuck you up," one of them shouted.

"Don't threaten me with a good time," Kelly replied.

We both started to unload on these guys. They started hitting the floors with thuds. After about the tenth, I needed to reload. So I ducked, behind my barrier, removed the spent magazine and replaced it. The whole time my senses were bombarded in a fresh insight to the violence. The smell of hot metal and gunpowder was only justified and amplified by the thunderous gunshots in my ears. I don't know what it was, but for some reason another smell hit my nose as I made certain that the clip was in. It could have been sensory overload, but something wasn't right.

I could not have taken more than ten seconds to reload before I was able to rejoin the firefight. I shot a few more and, Kelly took his turn to reload. There was something strange about these adversaries. It looked almost as if they were on a suicide mission. By that I mean, that many of them had a look of resignation, a look of total acceptance that never adorned the face of a fighter. Most all of my enemies died with a look of determination and defiance, but it is as if these didn't care if they lived or died. By the time he 'reappeared' the did not seem to be any more left.

"That was too easy," he said, "There have to be dozens more of them in this place."

"I don't know what this is but something's telling me that we need to get out of here." I had never felt this uneasy.

"Agreed."

So, in accordance with our gut feelings, we got out of there as quickly as we could. We still had our weapons drawn as we walked out of the door (or the hole where the door was a few moments ago). We kept our eyes peeled as we made our approach back to the car. The silence was the worst part, not even the wind made a noise. In the same way that one sees the lightning before hearing the thunder, I saw a white flash reflected on the thin sheet of ice that coated untreated asphalt in the winter. A split second, a ferias opus boom that rumbled in deep tones and simultaneously echoed a whoosh that flew past with a warm burst of air.

We turned around and saw that the warehouse was on fire. I heard screaming in the flames but there was nothing that could be done. The flames were so large and intense that even at our distance- maybe a hundred yards or so- we could feel the heat. It was a wonder that no debris hit either of us. Counterintuitively, the explosion on seemed to make the walls fall in. In simpler terms, the explosion didn't knock the wall down, but it weakened it, and it fell under its own weight. Only the some of the lower corners were still standing, acting as defiant boundaries to the massive conflagration.

"Holy shit," he said, "Did they just kill all of those—" Something interrupted him.

The sight that greeted us next still haunts. We watched a man walk out of the fire. He was covered in flames, like fire was his clothing. His walk was rigid, like a zombie. He didn't make a sound as his skin looked like it was melting off. He walked about five steps. The pain in his cadence was there and he took steps haltingly. He stopped and for a second he reached his arm up into the sky. He motioned his hand as if he was trying to grab one of the stars, like it was just on the tips of his fingers, but just too far to grasp. He balled it into a fist. Then, he fell, face first into the asphalt. He stopped moving then.

It grew quiet now, not silent, as the ominously gentle snapping and crackling of the fire now filled our ears. It, the sound, would make one retrospect to a campfire. This was not bonfire. No marshmallows roasting here. Only souls toasting temporarily here on earth and, and for the buyers, forever in Hell.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH," she shrieked. We turned around and saw Poppy behind us. Frantic, she pointed at the fire. "That bastard, he always talked about 'Plan C', but I never thought he'd do it."

"What's 'Plan C'?" I asked.

"Plan A is to do it right and get it right. one and done, even Steven." Kelly started as if every person who came in contact with him had to learn and memorize it.

Poppy took over, "Plan B: Go for the quick save. Stretch and survive. Run and fight another day."

Then both of them recited with the same cadence, "Plan C. Abort, abort, abort. Drown it out or burn it up, blow it up."

"And now," Poppy said, " He's gone on past Plan C to be killing his own clients."

"Well, we have to go," I said, "There's nothing we can do."

* * *

02:20

We ditched the car (in the river) and found another. We left the area as quickly as we could, because we could all hear the all of fire trucks, cop cars, and ambulances in the distance.

"This is so bad, this is so fucking bad," Poppy said, her words rushing together, "What do I do? Where do I go? All of my friends are dead. How am I going to make ends meet? W-"

"You're going to have to calm down." I said. "Panicking will do nothing but put yourself at risk."

"But what will we do? What about Ma and Mark?"

"They're safe, hundreds of miles away."

"What?" He asked.

"I got them out of here. I couldn't jeopardize them by trying to find you with them still in the city."

"Who in the fuck do you think you are? Who are you to move my family? You think this is Witness Protection? You wanna play God, you wanna be a cop?" His reaction was understandable but I replied.

"Look, they were in danger the second you threw that rock through my window. You were the Plan B in his scheme. That went wrong so he went for Plan C. I'm still living so he would have moved on to Plan D. Chelsea and Mark would be at the bottom of that river or maybe in that building just then for sale. You would have watched your mother and brother being sold off as a commodity. They've been through enough and so have you. Plan D. Plan E. Plan F. Lucky Quinn doesn't have a soul or any redeeming qualities as a human being. I think that if I waited even another hour to go to your house, and only God knows why the hell I went in the first place, but if even sixty more minutes passed, they'd have been dead. A gas leak, or just a 'robbery gone wrong'. They are alive and safe I keep tabs on them at all times."

"Fine," he huffed.

"So, what do we do?" Poppy asked, having calmed down.

I pulled a phone out of my pocket and a credit card out of the glove compartment. "Take these," I handed the card and phone over, "Take this car and this phone will guide you to where they are. They have a head start, but you'll catch up to them eventually. I say that you should wait till the morning to call them."

"What about-" She started.

"You two need to stick together. Find your family and stay away from this place for a really long time." I said.

"How will we know when we can come back?" He asked.

"You'll know."

* * *

BUNKER, 04:01

Clara was awake when I got back. The expression or lack thereof suggested to me that there had not been much sleep for her. She was at the console staring blankly at the screen. I'm sure she fell asleep a couple of times during the night, only to wake up a few moments later. The second I walked in she snapped back to a quasi-wakefulness.

"You're back," she said.

"Yes, and I've had one hell of a night."

"Yes, I saw that you were going all over the place." She said groggily.

"We can discuss this in the morning. You should go to bed." I said.

"You should come with me," she replied, the true meaning being pretty ambiguous.

"I will, but I have to do something on this computer first." I said approaching the screens. She, got up, gave me a kiss on the cheek and walked, almost stumbled upstairs.

What concerned me now was the income of the Club. I knew that they dealt in prostitution and in drugs. I also knew that the these networks are extensive, but the club wasn't big enough on its own to have all of these guards itself. And besides, some of those goons were black, and while that made no difference to me, it seemed out of place for an Irish gang to initiate or employ them. I get the feeling that they were hired, they were mercenaries, like Pinkerton guards. I looked at the police profiles to see some of the affiliations of the Club:

CHICAGO SOUTH CLUB

AFFILIATION: BLACK VICEROYS

I clicked on the "BLACK VICEROYS" and it gave more information.

BLACK VICEROYS:

LEADER: DELFORD 'IRAQ' WADE

SUSPECTED LIEUTENANT(S): TYRONE 'BEDBUG' HAYES, DEANDRE COLEMAN.

ACTIVITIES ASSOCIATED W/ GROUP: GAMBLING, RACKETEERING, TAX EVASION, PROSTITUTION, ARMS DEALING, DRUG DEALING COCAINE, CRACK COCAINE, HEROIN/ PAINKILLERS, MARIJUANA , HUMAN TRAFFICKING, MURDER, ATTEMPTED MURDER, MANSLAUGHTER, RAPE, LARCENY, BURGLARY, ARMED ROBBERY, BRIBERY.

KNOWN FACTS: KNOWN TO HAVE TAKEN OVER ROSSI-FREMONT, NOW USING PROJECTS AS BASE FOR DRUG DISTRIBUTION.

KNOWN TO PROVIDE GUARDS TO CHICAGO SOUTH CLUB AND DERMOT 'LUCKY' QUINN.

That was all I needed to see. The Club needed to go down and at that point I knew, the Viceroys needed to be dethroned.

* * *

Review or PM. Forgive if there are any errors: PM me and I'll fix them.


	15. III-4

WKZ REPORT, JANUARY 13, 06:00

Your News at Six AM starts now.

It could be heard as far away as Parker Square and the fire could be seen from as far away as Pawnee. Now the investigation is on to determine the cause of the fireball that woke so many from their sleep.

Good morning, I am Sue McNamara and you are watching the WKZ NEWS.

Firefighters are still investigating the explosion that destroyed a warehouse on the docks and caused damage to neighboring building and nearby cars. The fire marshal says that there are dozens of dead bodies at the site. Why these bodies were all clustered remains unclear as does the source of the ignition. Several stevedores said that they saw activity at the warehouse, but the activities were frequent.

Hector Velazquez had this to say, " _There was always people going in and out the of that place. There was always music blasting too. I thought that it was one of those hipster nightclubs that they set up everywhere. All I heard was a boom and I turned around and saw a wall of fire. It jarred me and oh my g-. Goodness gracious! Of all the dramatic things I have ever seen, an explosion, like that, up close tops it all."_

This is just the latest incident in the last few weeks of buildings going up in flames. The first was on Christmas Day when two neighboring homes both exploded in a similar way in Parker Square. Several manhole covers have also violently ruptured in the Loop, killing two. Some critics believe that the ctOS may be to blame, pointing out flaws and glitches in the operating system.

Roger Williams (R), " _This system basically puts all of our infrastructure, and I mean every single piece, on the internet, and on so-called secure servers The same way one can easily break into someone's social media is the same way a terrorist or even just a misguided teenager with minimal coding or hacking skills can break into a traffic light or a gas line and injure or kill hundreds or thousands of people at once. And what's worse? We won't even know who they are because they encrypt themselves. Anonymous crime is a danger to everyone's safety._ "

In other news, there was violent shootout in a car dealership in the Loop. The showroom floor was completely drenched in blood. LOOP LUXURY CARS was the scene of a bloodbath with more than a dozen bodies being recovered. The lone survivor of the attack said that a single gunman took down everybody in the room, but that the assailant let him leave after apparently disconnect all of the phones. Others heard the commotion outside in the streets and were also unable to call 911 or anyone else. It is still unknown if these two incidents were related

The assailant is described as a white male of average height and average build between thirty and fifty years of age. It may not be a very good description, but if you know anything CPD is asking you to call, 312-GO2-JAIL, that's 312-462-5245.

And now we go to Lee Standish for the weather forecast.

" _It's going to be unprecedentedly frigid over the next week. We have an area of high pressure that is going to sit on top of us for the next five to seven days at least. It's called an Omega block The high temperature is barely going to make it into the teens and starting tonight the lows will plummet to well below zero and the highs won't even reach five degrees. The wind chill is going to fall to negative thirty or less. So prepare. I'm sure that the schools are going to be shut on Monday and will be closed for several days after. The only saving grace is that there will be no snow because this is just an arctic high..._

* * *

 **JANUARY 16, BUNKER, 21:59**

I had to find a way to get the Viceroys. Something told me that the head of the snake, "IRAQ", was not the first place to go. He'd be way too heavily guarded and himself had military training and considerable skill. Besides that I had a feeling that he was in deep shit with Lucky Quinn and that he would be meeting his end soon anyway. Even with those facts I knew that these groups would just splinter into smaller gangs. Neighborhood by neighborhood and sooner or later blocks will fight against blocks for territory and the whole neighborhood will be even more dangerous than it is now.

These gangs never knew the value of strong organization. They were loosely tied together with many factions pulling in their own directions. Lieutenants getting their own ideas and pulling their few friends family and underlings in the same clique away from the middle. Consequently, these so called gangs were more like hordes that shared the common goal to survive and only cooperated to see one more day. In the pursuit of that simplest of ends they used whatever means necessary. They killed, stole and destroyed and with no good reason.

It seems that over the years this piece of the organized crime syndicate focused its attention on the Wards with the seat of the 'empire' being the Rossi-Fremont projects. I remember when they were built.

When I looked in the database the direct underling to Iraq was Bedbug.

Tyrone 'Bedbug' Hayes was the first in the line of succession and I had a feeling that I could easier get to him than anyone else. After looking him up I saw that he lived with grandmother in a small house not to far from Rossi-Fremont. He was only eighteen, a kid, but if he wanted to live an adult life, he would have to deal with adult consequences. As a deputy, he wasn't very skilled, not even being able to hold together an entourage of his own, not that anyone with his inexperience would be able to anyway. His relation to Iraq was the only reason that he had the position he had and the same nepotism, however weak, would be their undoing.

I would have to do the dismantling from afar this time. This extreme cold made it a hazard, even for someone like me, to venture into it. Besides, I doubt that the laziest man in the Viceroys would venture outside to do anything himself. Sitting near his house in a car would be futile, for I could just as easily hack his life from here in front of my keyboard and screens, in the comfort of my pajamas.

I turned around in the seat to make sure that Jackson wasn't about. He should have gone to bed a while again, and he probably had, but I didn't want him to see or hear the ugliness that was about to occur.

After punching a few keys I was in control of his life. His phone, his social media, his television in his room, and his computer were all mine. I hacked into his webcam and the camera on his phone. Anywhere he went I would know. His cell phone was tracking chip and my means to communicate with him.

I looked in on his bedroom through his computer, while I downloaded his internet history. He was sitting on his bed watching the television. He had no indication that I was in his room right now and he looked relaxed. Judging from the way the light hit the walls and my unscientific yet reliable method of judging distance, I could tell that his television was mounted to the wall and that his computer desk was flush with the same wall. That meant that both screens faced him as he laid out on his bed.

Reading the information from the computer I saw that he had a HDMI cord connected to the tv. It wasn't a common setup but I could reason that he must have watched a lot of content from the computer on his television set.

His internet history finished downloading just then. For a brief second I hesitated to open it, not out of guilt, but in realizing the full commitment of time that this was going to take. Granted it _may_ only take a _few_ minutes, but I expected it to take a few hours of hard coercing. This is of course if I found anything of note in the emails and internet history and there was a chance that I may not.

After opening the first folder that held the contents of his computer, I found that there were multiple accounts.I wasn't surprised by this. One account was for all the illegal shit. Another was the legitimate shit. The third, simple named 'MYPRIVATESHIT' was interesting to say the least. First I went through his 'gangster' account 'BedBug. All of the cookies on the browsers showed websites and searches that would further the gang. There was nothing of note for a fellow criminal like myself. I'm sure that the cops and the feds would have been delighted to see this, but that wouldn't help me in the moment.

The legitimate account had a slightly different password with a capitalized letter and a couple of numbers but it was easy nonetheless. This profile, called 'Tyrone Hayes' was something entire different. All of the searches were for ordinary things, definitions, celebrities, parties and clubs, funny videos, social media, and the mundane stuff to cover the criminality. There were even some searches for recipes and 'nice things to give grandma on mother's day'. I paused again in realizing that his grandmother was probably the only thing he had, and more importantly he was the only thing in this world that she probably still loved. I could empathize with her, because the same was true with me and Jackson. He was only thing left that I could claim to love absolutely. Clara was there of course and I had love for her, but that was not where my thoughts were.

I continued onto the third account on the computer, 'MYSHIT'.

"Holy shit," I whispered audibly.

Bedbug was gay3. And there was no being gay and being a gangster at the same time, at least not for the

There must have been at least two hundred gigs of that stuff downloaded in this account. It was systematized, organized by ethnic groups and his fetishes. He was obsessed with that weird Japanese shit and feet, but had an extensive collection of and an affinity for the gangster/thug look. This in mind, it wasn't enough. Just as easily it it was there it could be gone. Gone to the average computer user that is. I need proof of him in an act. Then I looked into the other folders.

Jackpot.

There was a folder labeled, 'MY Adventures'. There must have been a hundred or more videos of him with other men. Without going into further detail, by looking at the thumbnails, he felt that contrary to the expression it was better to _receive_ than to _give_.

I downloaded the entire folder which must have been about 125 or more gigs.

It was time to start the process of getting him to crack. And just like a nut it was going to take skill to accomplish this. Too much pressure and I'd damage the fruit (no derision intended) inside. Too little pressure and the nut doesn't crack, but slips through your fingers. I had to be very calculated. There was no telling how thick the shell was. In that environment one had suppress a secret like that. There couldn't be even the slightest hint that he even entertained a thought that wasn't tough.

I could not begin imagine the strain he was under if there was ever a fellow thug he liked romantically, but that was his problem and my opportunity. I knew what I was going to do first to crack him.

I checked back in on the room and saw that he was still awake and staring blankly into the television.

I hijacked his television screen and it went black. He didn't move for a couple of seconds, probably thinking that the channel was going out. Then, he sat up, stirring probably looking for the remote. Just as he found it and was ready to change the channel. The instant he raised the remote I made some words appear on his tv.

YOU HAVE A SECRET.

He relaxed for a second thinking that his program came on. Straightway, it occurred to him that the word weren't a part of the program he was watching. He changed the channel but, of course the words remained. He changed to another channel and again the word had not changed.

Next I typed: BEDBUG, I KNOW YOU SECRET.

He shuddered; I had caught his attention but this was going to be some work. He wasn't by any means dense, in fact he was quite fortified mentally. I started to have second thoughts about doing this only because I didn't know if this was going to be quick. I might be up all night with this guy.

He tried to turn the television set with the remote. I didn't let that happen and he rose from the bed to turn it off. He pushed the button and the television and it turned off. There was a visible and audible sigh of relief. I didn't let his solace last for long and I watched as his expression went from confused to absolutely crestfallen as I turned it back on remotely.

On the screen: YOU CAN'T GET RID OF ME THAT EASILY.

"Yes I can," he said, before marching towards the wall. The tv shut off in an instant and I could no longer control it. He had unplugged it, but that was to be expected. The next place I wanted the words to appear was on was his computer monitor. I took control of that and put the word on the screen:

IF I CAN CONTROL YOUR TV, THEN I SURE AS HELL CAN TAKE YOUR COMPUTER OVER.

He immediately unplugged the computer. He huffed a little, in what I could only call a sick combination of frustration, tiredness, discontent with a little bit of shame as a binding agent. "What is going on?" He asked no one. The paper thin walls must have made it easy for his grandmother to hear him.

"Keep it down!" she yelled. "I'm trying to go to sleep."

"Sorry, nana. Good night."

"Good night, Tyrone."

At least in the house there was respect and decency, but there was no sympathy no.

I pulled out my phone and hacked into his. I made my caller ID "YOU NEED TO ANSWER THIS". Of course his phone wouldn't display my number and his provider wouldn't even be aware that there was a phone call made. I even 'fixed' his phone so that I called his number he couldn't ignore the call or turn the phone's volume down. He couldn't even turn the phone. And checking the stats on his phone it was fully charged, 100%. If he didn't want to answer he could let his phone ring forever. I also took the liberty of switching over to the phone's cameras for a video feed of the goings on in that room. There was only blackness from both cameras suggesting that the phone was in his pocket.

I pushed call and waited. It rang once, twice and he looked at the phone. After the usual seven rings it continued. As I suspected he tried to turn it off. No luck. Then he tried to turn the volume down and that was unsuccessful. Finally after about three minutes of constant ringing he reached down into the pocket and grabbed the phone out of his pocket, read the name, and answered.

"Who is this?" He muttered angrily.

"That is none of your concern." I answered, "The question is whether you want your secret to stay secret."

"What secret are you talking about?" I heard the slight quivering in his voice. The façade was falling apart.

"You know and I know and that's all that matters. I know why they call you Bedbug."

" 'Cuz I can sleep with any bitch I want to. I'm in any mattress I want to be in."

Ignoring the urge to call him a bitch I only said, "You don't have to lie to me. If I could take over your computer, what makes you think I didn't get into your shit?"

"Look," he said, trying in vain to take control of the situation, "I don't know if you know who I am so Imma tell you. I'm one dangerous man and I got many connections."

"And I can sever them with one careless keystroke and then all of them will know what you do in Boystown."

"You can't prove-" And it must have hit him then that I had all of his footage. His tone changed from one of cocky dominance to angry subservience, "I don't want no trouble so just leave me alone okay. I'm not the one you're after."

"No, you're not the one I'm after."

"So leave me and my moms alone. She ain't got nothing to do with this, okay. She totally innocent."

"I'm not going to do anything to her."

"Oh," he said sarcastically, "You got a conscience or something? You a cop?"

"I'm someone who has you by the balls. You're not in any position to bargain. You're not getting your way out of this one. So, cooperate now and save of both the trouble."

"And what if I don't? Hmm? What if I just let you expose me and I just disappear? And what if the gang didn't give a shit and life went on like normal. I know a couple of them on the downlow too." Was he trying to shake me off?

"Iraq may be your cousin but you know he doesn't love you. He doesn't like you. He doesn't even give a shit about you. And you think all those thugs that envy you, want your position are gonna be you friends then you're delusional.

"What if I still stay no?" He asked, still trying desperately to wriggle his way out of this bad situation. I knew that I was going to have to turn evil for this one.

"It's really cold outside. It would be a shame if you and and grandmother couldn't stay warm. It would just be horrible if your lights went out." And just then I pushed a couple of keys and his lights went out.

"Okay, okay, turn the lights back on. I'll help you just don't tell anyone or hurt moms."

I turned the lights back on.

"That's all I wanted to hear."

"What do you want?" He asked.

"You're going to tell me about everything that goes on in Rossi-Fremont..."

* * *

Review or PM


End file.
